#maybe purposefully fuck with the light a little bit to make it longer

[calypsolemon]

can't wait until the rgu cast reaches the outside world and learns about public transport

#relatedly #i think anthy would be the greatest troll pedestrian #she would absolutely take every precious second of crosswalk light time to cross the street #maybe purposefully fuck with the light a little bit to make it longer #she walks in the middle of the parking lot the entire way so cars have to wait for her #she might actually have to get USED to public transport tho bc that shit can be very crowded! #but i think she'd do it cuz she would dislike cars more #anyways #rgu

[hazbinhappy]

Hi! First of all, happy spring break! I hope you enjoy your time off! ♡

I love Husk so much, he needs love to heal his dead heart 💔 so maybe femreader who's at the hotel with everyone and he finds himself catching feelings. And it terrifies the hell outta him. He hasn't felt anything like it in so so long, maybe nothing ever this strong. He has no idea what to do about it but the longer he's around her, it becomes more and more difficult to keep his feelings to himself. (If you like angst, maybe he pushes her away at first and she's hurt by it and it leads to a blow up which ends in his confession.)

Aaaand an idea for Overlord!Husk. We still don't know much about that part of his story, but let's say one of the souls he owns is readers. How he got her soul can be up to you. He starts to develop real feelings for her but she doesn't think they're genuine since she thinks she's just his "pet"

A/N: I am enjoying my spring break! Just lounging around, playing video games, and drawing! And of course writing and doing matchups! I hope I do these two well! I separated them with separate gifs! I changed up the first one a bit! god i just love overlord husk my man my man my man i went so hard on this for husk actually not being my top favorite (he is a top 3 three) I decided to mix the singer one with this overlord husk due to catching feels and being sweet <3

I feel like he is someone who clocks his feelings quickly or ignores the fuck outta them until he can’t anymore

I think in his past life he may have been married, but divorced because of his alcoholism and gambling addiction

So when he meets you he’s fine in the beginning. You’re just a soul who is trying out this redemption thing. So what?

But then you start to come to the bar more and more often. You don’t even get alcoholic drinks. Just Shirley Temple’s or non-alcoholic versions of drinks.

It confuses him because why come to the bar, silently have a drink, and then leave?

Eventually you start to talk with him, but you’re sober. You’re not drunkenly confessing anything, you’re just making light conversation, maybe a thing or two about your past or current life.

Soon, maybe a couple months, he starts opening up too and enjoys having conversations with you and in fact looks forward to when your freetime matches up so you can talk or even play cards (“What’s on the table?” “It’s just a friendly game of poker, Husk. Nothing more, nothing less.”)

Angel teases him one day about how he’s smiling more and seems to perk up whenever he hears your voice or even the mention of your name

That’s when it really sets into his mind and he starts to think about it.

Unfortunately that soon leads to him becoming avoidant and shut off from conversations leading to the same on your end as well before evolving into you guys simply not talking anymore

This actually upsets Angel and Charlie (moreso Charlie, but Angel decides to take care of it because we all know how Charlie can get a bit too involved in things)

Angel and you have a little heart to heart and Angel just…. He just laughs because it’s funny to him! You two are old souls who used to be married (and divorced) and y’all don’t know how to handle love anymore!

Angel comes up with this big grandiose plan on to confess but you settle on just a simple “smoke break” confession/trapping him on a break

Husk is standing on the balcony for a breather as you slip in behind him. He goes to leave but you purposefully block the door.

It’s a back and forth mini-argument. You planned on confessing first, but then he just blurts it out like a middle schooler admitting his first crush.

It’s a bit silly. This old man just blurts out his feelings as you’re standing there silent.

It’s a sweet moment to though because you give him a hug and cheek kiss (sorry I am a sucker for those I find them adorable) before confessing as well

Thankfully the hotel can run as normal without all the tension

Poor Alastor though he was loving all the misery and sadness coming from you two, mainly from Husk; he provided no real good advice

Did you know that most casinos don’t have clocks or windows so you don’t know how long you’ve been there and keep staying :D

So the only person with a watch is Husk and that is like a hidden pocket watch that he only checks when he gets a drink

I think that reader may have been one of the first souls he got! Or maybe the first he got specifically for the casino. He wanted some entertainment for the place to also keep people coming or staying so that’s what he uses your soul for!

He probably just smooth talked you into it or you made a silly bet and lost so you now have to work for him. So your relationship doesn’t necessarily start bad because you don’t hate him depending on if you choose the losing bet option, but if you choose the tricked option then it doesn’t start off well

Eventually it does get better over the years!

He starts to pay you a bit more and finally allow people to tip you; he doesn’t mind if you gamble because I like to believe that he houses people in an area above the casino so he has another layer of control as well

He tells his workers whether or not it’s daytime if they ask in private; when people know what time it is for your show they’ll be an announcement of like “Show in thirty minutes” so patrons are still in the dark about the actual time

He now doesn’t visit your shows with the idea “Yeah I own them”, but instead “Aren’t they gorgeous and saying a good job, say they’re doing a good job or I’ll fucking cut you-”

 At this particular show you sing “Once Upon a Dream” (a song from your favorite movie as a child Sleeping Beauty came out in 1959) just to change it up from all of the loud game noises and yells in the casino

When you look over at Husk with that sweet smile and look as you walk around, even running your fingers across the back of his chair before doing so to some other people

It makes him feel giddy for some reason even though he wasn’t the only person who you gently touched… but he was the only person who you gave that look to

After your shift ends and you’re in the dressing room grabbing your things, he was leaning on the doorway smoking a cigar

“So, doll, do you look at everyone that way when you sing or just me?”

“Jesus, Husk! Warn a person before you sneak up on them.”

 “Apologies, so?”

“...Well…um…the song-”

“No is a sufficient answer.”

“No… I don’t look at everyone that way when I sing.”

“Mmm, nice to know. Have a good night.”

It’s not necessarily an odd conversation, but it’s not solidified in what you guys feel about each other

It is very flirty between y’all though and it’s known that you are off-limits and your are his

You question it a lot (and so do other people) considering he owns your soul and he specifically made you an entertainment piece at his casino, but he definitely takes you out and lets you have more freedom than the other souls, so your worries aren’t completely squashed, but you feel better

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #husk x reader #husker x reader #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel husker

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

Mike’s eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick him out. He detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, he would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with him.

He laid on his back with his skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded his hands together over his stomach as he got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. He tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. His eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. He liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded him of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. He needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. He hoped he’d have enough room in his car for everything, since he wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit Mike out of nowhere; since he no longer had a school to attend, he’d never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one he’d participated in was Thanksgiving, and he’d wanted to have one last memory of his parents being proud of him before he became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way his father had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at Mike from across the dinner table, that he’d already failed. He chose to keep his mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that his college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

He wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. He hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. Mike would get the fuck over himself and leave the house. He would repair his purposefully neglected friendships. And he’d finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear him out. Maybe Will’s hatred for Mike had faded a little bit. He still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what Mike already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as Mike had arrived back at his dorm in January, he diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above his headboard. He wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because Mike was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but he truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting his school supplies (along with his reluctance to just go back home and grab what he needed from his room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all he had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on his wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; they weren’t official, anyway, so Mike was free to see whoever he wanted. Except Mike didn’t just want to see Will. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Will. If only Mike could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that Mike didn’t want to call; he wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. He longed for the day he’d get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But Mike was waiting for the right time to do it. He couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. He couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and Mike didn’t want to impose upon that. And he couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? He didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at him.

In reality, no time was a good time. Mike knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. Mike, ever the strategist, prepared himself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help him immensely in this process. Ultimately, he chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion he could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

Mike had parked himself in the middle of his mattress, sitting criss cross on top of his navy blue comforter. He’d pulled his phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of his bedside table and into his lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and Mike’s back was slightly killing him (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But Mike knew he wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

Mike drew his eyes up the headboard of his bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. Mike inhaled so hard he thought his lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in his chest. He feared his heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. Mike knew he had to do this now, or he never would. He’d already procrastinated doing this for too long. He gulped, his finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried his luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing Mike’s body to snap up to attention. He rose to defend himself from any monsters in his vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, he stood up way too fast. He was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. He sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, he let his shoulders go lax. Tension that he hadn’t realized had built up released from his neck as he rested his head on his palms. He wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster he’d have to fight was himself. 

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in his obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on him, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. Mike shut his eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. He could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or he could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone he knew.

Mike opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. He rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since he and Will got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. They’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, Mike freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, he wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, Mike needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around his throat. His eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through his veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around Mike’s wrist before he could take another step. He whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that he vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from his Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for Mike’s impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

He tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when he’d admitted to not knowing it, so he uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with his greeting. She pulled Mike down by his shoulder so she could talk in his ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. Mike raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. Mike hoped he wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, he knew he probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made him feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” he hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. Mike laughed along, but his voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

Mike looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. He watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in Mike’s stomach. The lava curling around his throat became even hotter, burning through his skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” Mike remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. He glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” Mike blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. He heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered him on, but Mike wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at Mike, stunned at his sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. Mike felt himself choking on air. He needed to get out of there, and quickly. 

“Okaygottagoseeya!” Mike forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before he bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of his Chuck Taylors as he continued to run across the campus quad, his breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout Mike’s body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. His feet loudly slapped the pavement below him, and Mike was proud that he hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of his time at the University of Indianapolis, it was his improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, Mike thought.

He sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If he got hit, cool. Awesome. He’d thank the driver as he bled out in the street. But no one came to take him out of his misery. So he kept running, and running, and running. Mike’s long legs screamed as his practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry him. The prickly, thin air he breathed in through his mouth reminded him of the sensation when he’d chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but he was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down his face. Or were those tears? Was he seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, Mike had never been the type of person to openly cry. He wasn’t raised to share his feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why Mike had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. He never opened up to anyone, because he hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. He prided himself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, he’d been the one to stare Vecna down as he thrust a sword straight into his heart. He’d proven his strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that Mike didn’t have to let his guard down; Will broke it for him. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that Mike had worked so hard for years to maintain. Mike suddenly became unable to stop himself from crying. He’d always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that Mike could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, he didn’t envy Will at all. He wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And Mike felt even worse when he recalled all the times when he was the reason for making Will cry.

Mike had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. He had his first one on the day Will left. His mom came into his room to check on him. He’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and his shoulders violently shook as he hyperventilated. His mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting Mike where he was at, grounding him, and helping him come back to earth. She’d held Mike in her arms as he sobbed, comforted him, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. He could never express enough gratitude towards his mom for what she did for him that day. Little did he know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to his initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after he’d been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

Mike found his car despite his impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly he opened it, and slammed it shut behind him. He collapsed his entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that he hadn’t even been aware he was capable of. He reached his hands up into his scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with his hands as his surroundings melted away. Mike genuinely felt like he was going to die. Everything he’d said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside him, and this was him finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

Mike turned his keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. He lifted his head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed his eyes a few times, and took a look at his reflection. The person staring back at him looked absolutely horrendous. He looked as if he hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; Mike could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep he’d had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by his side.

Mike shifted gears and turned his headlights on, pulling out of his spot and drifting out into the street. He knew what he was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just himself, but to others. But he couldn’t give less of a shit; he’d figured out what he needed to do. He slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where he’d have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but Mike didn’t turn left. He tapped his fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on his right hand signal.

He swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. Mike felt his breath hitch. His voice was deeper than Mike remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” Mike exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for his own good. He waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. He went to speak again, but Will beat him to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said his name in a tone that Mike could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, he shouldn’t have called him. He shouldn’t have called him, but he did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said Mike’s name for the first time in a year.

Mike reclined onto his comforter so he was lying on his back with his knees bent, wrapping the cord around his finger a few times as he spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

He heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so Mike told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. Mike always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound he’d ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

Mike begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and Mike would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved Mike Wheeler’s life. She’d given him a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of Mike’s face. His stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and he suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but he didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing Mike away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” Mike heard himself ask, his voice small. He felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, he was still a kid. He’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of his childhood. He’d been so uncertain of where he’d end up after the war was over. And the one time Mike was sure of himself, sure of his feelings, and sure that Will Byers was his heart, he– 

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made Mike’s blood run cold. He set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on his twin-sized mattress, the rest of his body completely frozen. He felt his facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed him.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. Mike rarely prayed; he only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, Mike prayed the hardest he’d ever prayed in his entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, he opened his eyes. Nothing. Mike huffed a quiet laugh to himself; it was so typical of him to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with his problems. He’d have to face this alone. He was always alone. And he fucking hated it.

Mike hated that he would never have Will in the way he wanted him, no, the way he needed him. Mike hated that he could never seem to get the closure that he believed he deserved. Mike hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with him! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had he done something else? Did he do something other than that one time in August? Something during his first semester, or over Christmas break, that he couldn’t remember due to his steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? He couldn’t think of a single thing, which made him even angrier. 

He wished he could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe Mike could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if Mike picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if he said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. He’d be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of himself that he could never get back; a boy who would call him out for lying to both Will and himself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt Mike badly enough to justify a grudge. At least he thought so. Then again, Mike hated grudges, and the person he became when he held them. Scratch that, he hated the person he’d become, period. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

He’d started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, he’d finally discovered his identity as a young gay man. He met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. Mike would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to him, and would get weirdly emotional when his mind would, as always, drift to Will. He’d sometimes close his eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and he’d fall for his own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and he’d remember that Will hated his guts… he would drink. A lot. He was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. His temper got worse, his fuse got shorter, and his overall outlook on life became so cynical that he sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But he’d never followed through with anything in his entire life, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to kill himself even if he wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of his eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of Mike’s cheeks. He hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing him to develop a cramp under his ribcage. He grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering his feet to the linoleum floor. He shuffled to his wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before he found what he was looking for. It was over. This was it. He’d had his chance, and he lost Will for the third time in his life. He picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to his lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when he’d startled awake to a shrill ringing in his ears. He checked his alarm clock to see the time, and he rolled his eyes. He extended his arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of his body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

Mike sat up then, his eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” Mike agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto his pillows and staring at the ceiling. He’d missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and Mike’s reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked him, and Mike scoffed, lifting his free hand to run it through his hair, regretting it immediately when his fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since Mike hadn’t washed his hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told him, and Mike clenched his jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So Mike told her. He started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. He told her about how he and Will hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. He told her about how he had, in fact, written letters to Will; he’d just never sent them. He told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when they’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. He told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and Mike feared that their call might have been disconnected and he’d been talking to no one. But then, he heard the faint sound of El breathing, so he continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut him off, and Mike sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time they’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. He truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about him after everything. He’d been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut him out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” Mike whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” he pressed, and he heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” Mike repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should he have waited until they were out of school for the summer? Should he have waited until they were both out of college? Should he have waited until Will had forgotten about him?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to him, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. Mike reached over to his bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched his esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” he spluttered, wiping his mouth roughly with his sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, Mike wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of his problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mike. As far as Mike was concerned, he’d never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and Mike was alone with his thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of his mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in Mike’s mind as he finished off his bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke Mike back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle him awake each time he nodded off behind the wheel.

Mike concluded that he couldn’t blink anymore. Though his eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting his corneas, blinking would cause Mike’s heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of his life, he’d trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then his eyelids would droop closed.

Mike pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with him. Hopefully Mike would get his third wind sooner than later (his second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep him awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met Mike’s ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” Mike indignantly announced to the universe, gripping his fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, Mike was very awake. His mind became a film reel, playing back memories he thought he’d blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go? 

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. Mike sat on his father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, Mike often felt like the odd one out. His parents shamelessly and openly favored his sisters over him, which further excluded him, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out he was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, Mike got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. He had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to him, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. He still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of him refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. They could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. Mike’s subconscious must have known he’d needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because he found Will’s list. To Mike, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so he decided to memorize it. He’d do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking his brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded Mike’s attention, and he swiveled his upper body around to see Will leaning over his shoulder, his hands planted on either side of Mike on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in Mike’s blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? Mike gulped loudly, becoming flustered at their very close proximity. God, he needed to get ahold of himself. Pining over his best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and Mike’s eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for him? Mike realized then that he hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering Mike speechless, but he needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” he asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of Mike’s space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. Mike took this moment to shift in his spot to face Will, placing his hand atop his friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in Mike’s direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming. 

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” Mike had a sentimental streak, what could he say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at Mike’s confession. 

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” Mike asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” Mike quipped, his voice infected by his ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did Mike just… What did he just say? He said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… Mike’s mind meandered into treacherous territory as he wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! He was just about ready to pass away right then and there. Mike could just imagine his headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. Mike nearly fell off the chair. Could his egregious mistake have given him a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

Mike played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of theirs, sandwiching Mike’s hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, Mike thought, fuck up more often.

Mike smiled so big that his mouth nearly fell off his face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and Mike was lying on the basement couch with his legs hanging off the edge. His eyes were closed, and he wore his headphones which were attached to his Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as Mike had from the second it fell into his hands back in 1986. He felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. He cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when he registered that it was Will who was entering his space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees 

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” Mike sat up, pulling his headphones fully off his head and resting them around his neck. Then he saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. Mike’s eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” Mike cried out, cranking the window down with his free hand and letting the wind rush through his long, black hair. His sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as his hair violently whipped into his eyes. He lifted his left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling his fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” he yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into his mouth. He tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but Mike continued on with his tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and Mike obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into his retinas. He pushed his hair out of his face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did he perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; his car radio had been blocking it out. He also noticed that he was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if he didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, Mike swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. He took a moment to process the fact that he could have died. He knew his hands held the steering wheel, and his foot was still on the gas, but the rest of him was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but Mike could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. He could have died, but he didn’t. But he felt his heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

Mike knew that he couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read his mind, a small lookout area appeared within his vicinity, and he took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. He parked his car, turned the music down, and clasped his hands in his lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down Mike’s spine. He hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of his vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. He pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind him and shoved it over his shoulders, zipping it up. He did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling his eyes and laughing bitterly to himself at the sheer irony. He continued to laugh as he opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

Mike stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below him were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees he could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, Mike stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If he were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of his mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course his thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could he ever forget? Even as a child, he’d been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and Mike glanced down. This time, he wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save him. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for him. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” Mike screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. He lifted his hands up to his face, covering his bloodshot eyes. He heaved out a low growl, raising his voice until it hit the top of his range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

He let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; he’d cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. His throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. He took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at his feet, watching them fall. Mike decided he didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way he could die was if he did all he possibly could to get Will back. He turned his back on the trees, briskly walking back to his car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, Mike walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. His hangover headache was beginning to form, and his intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so he figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. He stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to his right. Mike recalled himself making a mental note back at the frat party to check his horoscope, so he leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when he found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, Mike thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. He filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he’d been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and Mike could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When he got closer, he noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at Mike, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. Mike tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” he sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money Mike slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. Mike shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand him his change so he could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and Mike stopped his fidgeting. He looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” Mike softly smiled as he took his change from the counter, and shoved it into his pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after him, and Mike laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind him.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something Mike had expected to be on his Sunday agenda, but here he was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. He got out of his car, slamming the door, and smoothing his jeans over his thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in his back seat after his most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if he were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission he was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for Mike to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. Mike figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so he could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. He walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. Mike could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared Mike for the next piece that caught his eye.

It was him. It was Mike; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. Mike held his breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. He knew he didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when he read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. Mike’s chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in his head that routinely reminded him of what he’d lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left Mike without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased Mike out of his life, still refer to Mike as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? Mike hadn’t realized he’d zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to him, he nearly leapt out of his skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of his eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” Mike hummed, unmoving. 

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told him, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” Mike began, then cut himself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on Mike’s vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” he asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” he smiled at her as she handed him two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” He didn’t recall ever telling her his name, or mentioning Will in their short conversation, but Mike became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something he didn’t. Will had evidently told her about him. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so he felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” he rushed out, backing out the door as politely as he possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as he was out of the Admissions office building, he ran down the street. He was so close to finding Will. Now, all he had to do was find the dorms.

Mike looked down at the map in his hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if he was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all he could see was a brick wall in front of him. He was just about to rip all his hair out before he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see two girls looking up at him, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. His gaze traveled down to notice their intertwined hands and he blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least he was amongst friends. He gripped onto the map in his hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave him be so he could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” he shook his head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at Mike with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” Mike waved his hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted Mike’s heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

Mike let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” Mike’s brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” Mike felt like he was being charged with a crime, but he nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and he couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” he muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise him? He was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to Mike, who read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

He gulped loudly, peeling his eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. He nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of his mouth when he attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from him. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” he heard her call back to him. He wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

Mike eventually found his car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than he’d have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. He pulled the map of Chicago out of his pocket and dug in his middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. He could do this.

As he drove, Mike thought about what to say. How could he even begin to explain why he was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could he justify his batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? Mike groaned. He didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so he figured he’d at least try to plan out his… speech. But he had never really been much of a planner in respect to his social life. Give him a few monsters, and he’d be golden. But his crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. He’d just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that Mike stood in, lifting his knuckles to the door.

Mike knocked.

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21. Blowjob / domsub

Yes I know it’s November. Idc. Happy kinkvember ig

2.8k words of zephrit. Zephs a brat and ifrit is just the kindest dom about it.

Or I stumbled delirious into @divine-misfortunes DMs and came out with this. Shout out to it for dragging me by the collar back into writing.

Small warnings for a bit of degro, face fucking, they/them Zeph, yeah

“I just thinks it’s fucking stupid” Zeph grumbles. The room is too cold, dew won’t let them watch what they want on tv, everything is wrong to them and the longer they stand in the kitchen with ifrit the more pissed off they get over seemingly nothing.

Ifrit usually has the patience to deal with Zephyr when they’re like this. The knowledge that they’re in pain and don’t mean to be bitchy is enough to give him the time and energy to talk them down.

Todays different.

“Zeph, honey, there’s nothing you can do. Maybe just calm down, it’ll be ok” ifrit stands behind them with a hand around their waist, the other playing with a loose strand of hair from their bun.

“Do you have to be so fucking positive all the time?” Zeph mumbles to themself. It’s a stupid comment, they know it’s mean, it’s really just a day to push as far as they can, they can’t help it.

Something in ifrit snaps. The usual patience turned into a need to just set the air ghoul straight. He shifts his hands to their waist and throws them over his shoulder. They’re light, easy to manhandle into a comfortable position. Ifrit knows Zeph won’t listen and be reasonable if he were to simply tell them to go upstairs, much rather take them there himself instead of listening to the back talk he knows he would get by trying to reason with them. In his eyes it’s the easier option.

“put me the fuck down”

Zeph struggles against him, kicking their feet and grabbing at the back of his shirt. Ifrit simply stays silent until he opens his door and throws Zeph onto the bed.

Something in his demeanor changes, he smiles, watches Zeph like he’s infatuated with them, a kindness in his eyes that contradicts the way he simply maneuvers zephyr like a ragdoll. The sugary sweet appearance only furthers their anger.

“This is fucking stupid, I’m going back down stairs” zeph bites and attempts to push past ifrit.

Ifrits sharp claws dig slightly into zephs wrists as he grabs them and pins the air ghoul to the wall. Watching, daring them to struggle.

“Be sweet darling, I know you can be” ifrits lips are on zephyrs skin immediately, his spare hand pushing up their shirt to thumb at his hip.

“Shut up, let me go” Zeph says. Their anger betrayed by a uncertain high pitch to their voice when Ifrit's lips brush their neck, not even consciously tipping their head to give more access to the sensitive skin, it's instinct to want to lay themself bare to him, even if they pretend that they hate it.

“Oh honey I know you don’t want that, you’re so cute when you act like this” *you're so cute when you struggle knowing full well you'll lose.* he doesn't need to say it for Zephyr to understand and it makes blood rush to their cheeks and their dick all at once. Ifrit purposefully shifts, pushes a knee between their thighs - not heavily, enough to keep them aware of how their dick reacts to whatever he does to them.

"*I'm not cute.*" they hiss through their teeth, breath hitching as a warming hand ghosts beneath their shirt.

A strangled noise leaves zephs mouth, ifrits claws dig further into their wrists and the word cute goes straight to their cock that’s rapidly filling in his pants as ifrits leg rubs against it.

“I know you can be sweet, poor thing you just need to be reminded don’t you?”

Ifrit thumbs lightly over a nipple, enough attention to get the little bud properly pebbled, before rolling it between his fingers. Zephyr wants to be embarrassed at how fast they practically collapse into ifrits support as his hand pinches, fingers hot to the touch. They don't intend to go boneless like they do, but Ifrit knows their body too well. The way his teeth tease at their pulse is evident of that, they want to scream in frustration but trying to bring themself to even speak at all is more difficult than it should've been.

They gasp, bucking into it but struggling against where they’re pinned still. The lips on their neck are so soft compared to the burning sensation on their chest.

“Fuck- ifrit I-“ they try to ask for more but struggle against the words, all the sensations making their brain practically turn off. He chuckles into their neck and Zeph barely fights the urge to roll their hips forward into the pressure his thigh offered. Zeph knows they wouldn't survive it if he let them do it, already turning to mush.

"I know sweetheart," Ifrit kissed beneath their ear, voice soft and understanding. Only the slightest bit condescending, easily missed. They do. "I'll give you what you want...Could never say no to you, even when you're acting up like this, but you can't help it huh? Can't help but be a brat cause you need it so bad. Need my cock so bad you forgot how to act darling."

“Shut up, give it to me” zeph grinds against ifrits leg.

“I know you’re just a needy cockwhore, I’ll take care of you darling”

Before Zeph can comprehend it their shirt is being dragged over their head and ifrit has his fingers struggling with the button and zipper on his pants, even just the friction of ifrits hand on the front of his jeans has them ready to start begging. The kindness and rough touches has their head spinning, desperate.

Ifrits fingers swipe across their lips and Zeph immediately invites them in, letting ifrit slide them in and out as they coat them with spit.

Zeph pretends they're annoyed by everything, by ifrits fingers petting over their tongue, but it's a hard facade to keep up because his fingers are warm and rough and taste a little sweet

“Youll just suck on anything I give you” ifrit whispers “you’re so adorable acting out, when you’ll go brainless if I put something in your mouth”

it's true but Zeph still groans and protests it a little but there's more pressure against their crotch and their eyes damn near roll back, immediately chasing the feeling, groan trailing off into a whine as his fingers push further into their mouth

Jaw slack, they eventually forget why they were protesting him or his attention to begin with

Ifrit smiles so sweetly, coos a little praise when they stop struggling

"There you are....there's my sweet flower, don't gotta keep acting up, you've got me now"

Zeph practically whines, their hips grind harder into ifrits thigh, hands still high above their head.

“It’s ok, I know you don’t mean it sweetheart, we both know who is actually in charge here” ifrit whispers, low and sweet into their ear. a reminder instead of a threat.

Zephyr nods compliantly, almost content to just suck on ifrits fingers and hump his leg like they won’t get anything better. There’s something so addictingly mindless about it all, about the sweet whispers from ifrit while they hollow their cheeks around the fingers and cover them in spit, about the drag and friction over their cock that’s sensitive and borderline painful but they would never dare stop.

They just get so easy like this, so malleable that they even whine when ifrit pulls his hand away and pushes them to sink to their knees

“Gonna give you something better sweetheart, this is what you wanted right?” Ifrit tilts zephs head up to stare at him, eyes already glassy as they look at him pathetically, as if they don’t get a cock in their mouth soon they may cry

Ifrit shushes them, they'll get what they want, he always gives it to them, Zeph just needs to be patient

He could tease, see just how needy they really get, but he knows not to push when they fall so fast like this. It’s almost embarrassing how easy zephyr gets with just a few rough touches and commanding words, ifrits sure they’ll be blushing about it later, refusing to admit it.

But right now? They're just sitting there with their mouth open stupidly, tugging at ifrits pant leg and he’s surprised they're not drooling all over their lap.

He pulls himself out, uses his other hand to keep a firm grasp on zephs chin, he knows they’ll be good and still but it’s just an added reminder, an added force of command for ifrit to easily slide his cock into their mouth.

It’s almost surprising how Zeph sits with their hands in their lap, waiting for ifrit to use them. His sweet ghoul,

“Knew you knew how to be good,” ifrit smiles at them. He places a gentle hand in their hair just to guide them, knows they like the extra force, the slight pain that comes with it to keep them sweet and stupid. The tip of ifrits cock glistens with pre in the dimly lit room, it’s hard for zeph not to lunge for it, they know better to be greedy but they can't get enough of ifrits dick in their mouth, thick but comfortable enough not to make their jaw hurt, long but not enough to gag them outright

It's perfect, like it was made for them to suck...not to mention the way their mouth makes ifrits voice go all breathy.

They go still as ifrit brings zephs mouth to him, looks up and waits, a silent invitation to fuck their mouth, use them.

It’s easy for him to realize what Zeph wants, almost too easy to just tighten his grip in their hair and force them down, making them take as much as they can.

“Fuck- you look so much prettier when you’re quiet doll” ifrit grits out, trying hard to not fuck that pretty little mouth too hard, but it feels so good he doesn’t know if he can help himself. Zephyrs red lips and glassy sweet eyes make it hard to control himself.

Ifrit being rough isn't a thing that really happens all that much but zephyr constantly aches for it

Especially when they're acting up like they were, need it bad, but ifrits seemingly never ending patience rarely falters. So when they do finally get him like this it’s easy to milk it as much as possible, trying to be as obedient as possible to hopefully get him to give them what they want.

It’s an itch they get sometimes to see how far they can push it before ifrit breaks. Needs to be punished, needs to be put in their place and made to obey.

Almost just wants to see how much he will really let them get away with.

Zeph is usually talked down with soft words and gentle touches, the never ending kindness enough to make them fuzzy and have their head spinning.

But when ifrit is truly rough with them? Makes them feel small and stupid? It takes all their energy to not straight beg to be treated like a toy, to be used and fucked with no respect

“You’re just nothing without my cock between those lips are you darling?” Ifrit coos at them, sweet despite usuing their mouth, slamming them back down over and over as drool begins to spill out the sides of their mouth, tears running down their cheeks.

He stares fondly at them with his fingers curled around their neck pinning them to the mattress, telling them how Beautiful they are as he fucks their throat with a fist around their horn,

“You’re such a good toy to fuck, much more useful when you’re quiet like this instead of being a brat, can’t ask for what you want can you?” His tone is kind, but mocking.

Ifrit pulls them off his cock so he can spill his mess on their face with a purr of I love you

They've been too bratty to earn the reward of him cumming in their mouth. A treat that Zeph almost cries over when they realize they won’t get it. Zeph can’t help but sit there with their mouth wide open, hoping to catch just a little bit, just desperate to taste what they do to him. They make a sad little sound they make when he pulls out, a very hoarse and pathetic please please please they whisper...

They truly do look pretty like this, lips fucked a cherry red, cheeks tear stained and eyes sad and desperate, truly looks fucked out, like they were made for taking cock down their throat.

They really are such a sweet little toy.

Zeph can’t help but sit there with their mouth wide open, hoping to catch just a little bit, just desperate to taste what they do to him.

Ifrit gathers what he can from zephs cheeks onto his fingers and holds them up to their lips, a small gesture of kindness because Zeph really is too pretty to deny like this.

Ifrit could just keep on like this all night, till he had nothing left to give, if it meant zeph would stay like this for him

a flip switches in Zeph when ifrit is rough and cruel like this. Abandons their usual snark and haughtiness for begging and desperately sweet words, willing to worship ifrit even, if it would get his approval

They’re not apposed to the long game, the fear that maybe ifrit will keep them like this for another round or two before they’re touched at all, let alone be allowed to cum, is terrifyingly arousing considering how often they’re allowed just get whatever they want.

The prospect of just being given the sweet mercy of a short hand job, not even getting fucked like they’ve been begging for for an hour now, it’s unsatisfying, in their opinion cruel, especially knowing how nice ifrit will be about it and treat the situation as if ifrit is being merciful and generous. It’s almost embarrassing, to be told that being given the bare minimum is a reward, a treat since ifrit just loves them so much.

They can’t get enough of it.

Hopes he will treat them like that

And ifrit does.

He fucks two more loads out in their mouth, but barely gives them a taste. More than happy to shoot on their face, their chest, anywhere that isn't where they want it. They look pitiful, a proper decorated whore, soaked through their boxers, left visibly wanting

Ifrit wishes he could muster up another round, but he doesn't think he'll survive trying to milk out a forth orgasm, so instead he scoops them up. Lays them out on the bed, a little princess posed in the pillows. He calls them pretty as he crawls between their legs which fall apart so easily for him, inviting him in.

Gentle kisses trail up their thighs as ifrit noses the underside of their cock, just teases them because Zeph just sounds so cute when they’re so compliant and desperate. He wants them to work for it, beg and try hard to fuck his mouth. It’s too easy to just lightly lick at the head, wanting them to buck up into it.

He lets the head of their dick just rest against his tongue, close to the warmth of his mouth, but not giving it proper. Every little sigh and exhale has zeph twitching, kicking against his tongue. They're trying so hard to be good, to not take more than what they're given and ifrit can see them sweat, see the visible restraint. He makes the softest sympathetic sound, gives them a little, a few generous strokes that has them sobbing in relief.

But then it's just his fist loose around them, teary eyed and confused,

“I’m sorry for being mean love, you can fuck my fist as much as youd like”

Zeph almost wails, desperately wants to cry and beg for ifrits mouth, needs to feel his lips around them, hot and wet. His fist almost seems like a cruel joke and with the way ifrit smiles at them they’re sure it is.

Their thrusts are pathetic and lackluster, barely able to get off the bed, it’s not enough like this they don’t think but they don’t want to be greedy. He’s never seen them be so good, remembering their manners and doing without the sarcastic comments, he almost feels bad for them after he’s been so cruel.

Ifrit caves.

He pins their hips down and takes them fully to the back of their throat.

Zeph almost cums immediately, it doesn’t take much after everything, they barely have time to warn ifrit before he just moves their hand to his hair, silent permission to take what they want, they’ve earned it.

Zeph keeps a loose fist tied to his scalp as ifrit bobs, can’t help but to just whine and thanks him for his mercy before spilling hot down his throat with a cry.

#yes I know it’s been a month #don’t mention it #idk what this is either #fanfic #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost #wrath writes #zephyr ghoul #ifrit ghoul #kinktober

[tracingpatternswrites]

I’m so behind on microfics but I’m going to try and pick it up again and what better place to start than with today’s prompt which just happens to be slippy. So here we go, today’s @wolfstarmicrofic which is a bit longer than normal, just consider it an apology for missing a few days? Obviously NSFW so it’s below the cut.

The music is pounding, loud enough so that Remus could feel it through his body. Lights were flashing over the dance floor and Remus is watching, leaning lazily against the bar, elbows resting on top of it, hips jutted out slightly.

He isn’t necessarily on the pull tonight, but looking never hurt anyone, and some of the guys in this place could dance. He’s startled from his thoughts as there’s a movement next to him, a body knocking into his and then a voice that isn’t loud enough for him to make out any words.

”Sorry, what?” He asks as he turns and then does a double take because, fuck, this bloke was hot. All pale skin and silky dark hair, clad in leather and the edge of a tattoo peaking up over his collar, black eyeliner smudged around his eyes which only highlighted they silvery shine of them and Remus is gripped with a sudden urge to lick him and he blinks at himself. Where did that come from? 

”Sex with an Alligator,” the stranger says, followed by a flash of teeth. ”Or Sex on My Face?”

Remus stares, wondering if he’s lost his mind. Of course, a guy this hot can’t be just a normal bloke, he has to be some kind of insane person, a sex-crazed freak probably. He blinks, clearing his throat. ”Er, I don’t know if–”

”A Cocksucking Cowboy? Or maybe just a Blowjob?” The guy continues, as if Remus hadn’t said anything at all, a glitter in his eyes and Remus can’t do anything ut stare blankly. The guy drops his gaze to the bar and then back up, head tilted as he studies Remus. ”I’m not much for Creamy Pussy myself, but whatever floats your boat, mate.”

Remus splutters, ”I don’t– I’m not–”

The guy throws his head back and barks out a laugh, pushing something across the bar and Remus lets his eyes flicker down to the piece of paper and suddenly something clicks into place and he can feel his cheeks blazing hot. Cocktails. Fucking cocktails.

”A Slippy Nippy Two?” The guy smirks, leaning closer as if telling Remus a secret. ”Supposedly an upgrade on Slippy Nippy One, whatever that was.”

Remus eventually finds his voice, pushing down the worst of the embarrassment in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. He straightens his back, showing off his length and he registers the guy’s shift in stance, a tilt of his head.

”No Creamy Pussy for me,” Remus confirms, letting his gaze purposefully flick down to the guy’s lips and he can swear he sees a hint of tongue between lips before he looks back up, noting that the guy’s eyes have gone a little darker and he can feel a smirk tugging at his own mouth, raising an eyebrow. ”Wouldn’t turn down a Blowjob, though. If you’re offering.”

He doesn’t look away from the other man’s eyes, keeping their gazes locked together, and then the guy flashes him another sharp grin, and this time he literally licks his fucking lips before rocking forward, voice somehow cutting through the music. ”Oh, I’m offering,” he murmurs, dragging his eyes up and down Remus’ body before winking at him and turning to wave down the bartender. 

List of cocktails ;)

#wolfstar microfic #naughty wolfstar #sirius is a little tease #muggle au #sirius black #remus lupin

[lexa-griffins]

Shy nerdy Lexa attends her first college party at Anya's behest who says she studies too much and needs to live her life. She catches the eye of fratboy Clarke who wants to bed the nerd. Lexa actually likes the affection she receives from cocky Clarke. They hook up but part ways after the party. Well, it appears that the condom broke because Lexa finds herself pregnant several weeks later. Clarke's the daddy!

In Lexa's mind it was just a night. One night where she'd have fun, get fucked by the hottest girl on campus and then go back to her quiet life away from frat houses and drunken nights. She's barely seen Clarke around campus and it's not like she's looking for her anyways, she doesn't want anything to do with her, no matter how great the sex was.

And then she goes in to the doctor to get some routine blood work done and she's congratulated on the baby. And her whole world comes crashing down. This is the last year of college and the one fucking time she lets go a bit more, she ends up pregnant.

Lexa is more than ready to go tell Clarke and have her deny the baby is hers. Or maybe accuse Lexa of trying to purposefully get pregnant so she could get child support as the Griffins are a known well off family, one of the biggest donors to the school and the main reason Clarke's stunts haven't gotten her kicked out. But Clarke sounds... excited almost? She's shocked for sure, but Lexa is taken back by how responsible Clarke seems to be about it, happy even!

They don't get together, not right away. Lexa stays in her cramped studio apartment, Clarke stays at the frat house. Lexa no longer passes by unnoticed, not as she gets further along and it gets out she's "the chick Griffin knocked up" but Lexa ignores it, although Clarke seems to have gotten in more than one drunken fight with people who like to jab at her baby mama. Lexa hears about it, never through Clarke, and she'd prefer not to ask.

Clarke is everything Lexa didn't expect her to be. Attentive and caring, constantly texting Lexa to ask if she's and the baby are okay. She's there at every appointment, a buzzing ball of energy everytime she sees the baby on the screen. Against her better judgment Lexa has started to lean on her for craving and pains. At some point they start having sex - Clarke already got her pregnant it's not like she can't do more damage than that. Even when Lexa says she doesn't need help Clarke is there to help her and somewhere along the lines Lexa stars to learn how to ask for help too.

It daunts on Lexa at around six months pregnant that she's happy. She's excited to be a mom and she loves this little baby growing inside of her; she enjoys spending time with Clarke and be cared for by her, something she tells her one day after the birthing classes they've been taken and the shine in Clarke's eyes and the smile that lights up her whole face makes Lexas heart beat faster. It hits her with a ton of bricks the realization that she's in love with Clarke. The girl who not once questioned Lexa, her decision to keep the baby and who even rather shyly asked if she could be involved in the pregnancy, that asks everytime before she touches Lexa's belly or talks to their baby. Who drove to another town at four in the morning because it was the only place that sold the pie Lexa had been wanting so badly she nearly cried.

They get together before the baby is born... barely. Lexa musters all the courage she can and asks Clarke out. It seems stupid to ask the woman who knocked her up on a date when Clarke has all but moved in with her at this point but Lexa really wants to have some sense of normal college life before this baby comes..... and hey, she deserves her awkward college date with a pretty girl she has a crush on!

It's cute and silly and it still feels so weird to be on a cute date inside a greasy fast food restaurant playing footsie and giggling at each other when they expecting a baby together. They kiss and have sex like it's the first time their doing it and although Lexa cannot say she hated their first time because it was so good and wild and gifted them their little baby, this feels so much more intimate and raw, because before she was nothing more than another name on Clarke's list of names and now, now she might as well be the last :')

Lexa goes into labour two weeks after that. Their first I love you is shared as their son is put in Lexa's arms, both crying so hard the words barely come out but they know. Oh they know <3

#letter opened #STOP GIVING ME AUS I CANNOT STOP MYSELF 😭😭😭 #this is cute me thinks 🥰 #unfortunately for all of you this is not the last 'i will give you an entire plot line' ask on my inbox #clexa

[yandere--stuck]

In honor of the Striders' birthdays, can I get a Yandere! Dirk X Male/GN! Reader? The prompt would be that Dirk has been trying really hard to ignore his obsessive feelings of love for the reader by locking himself in his tower and getting lost in his work. Suddenly, the reader comes over with a birthday cake and Dirk is shocked that they remembered his birthday when even he didn't. Feeling overwhelmed with feeling, he invites them in... And doesn't plan on letting them leave.

This a bit belated and deviates a bit from the original prompt, but I hope you like it! If it's any consolation, it ended up being pretty long. ^^

--

Before they had all won the game, Dirk didn't sleep. He would allow his waking body to rest while he focused on using his dreamself's body on Derse, and then would switch out when need be. He would lay on his bed, both in the waking world and on Derse, but sleep would never claim him. Maybe his mind was far too active, always thinking, or maybe it was some consequence of being an ecto-biological clone. But, either way, for a majority of Dirk's life, he never slept.

He was constantly running on empty.

On Earth C, he realized that he had to learn to sleep. He had to learn how to, much like one learnt how to swim or ride a bike. It was frustrating, at first. It was hard to not get discouraged. It was hard to realize he had to take it slow, one step at a time. He should have known how to sleep, naturally, but he didn't. There were many a time when Dirk was ready to throw in the towel, content with his inability to do something so natural and human.

Well, until you offered to help.

He… He had wanted to decline. He wanted to insist that it was simply a lost cause, and to not waste your time. But, Dirk's longing to spend time with you had won out in the end.

You had bonded together while playing the game. Slowly and surely, he had become almost addicted to your warm smiles, to the feel of your body close against him, your hands on him as you patched him up or pushed him away from an enemy's line of fire. 

He remembered nights spent talking together on your respective planets. In person. Together. Not separated by a screen. You'd talk long into the night - about anything: your lives, your dreams, your interests, cracking jokes. But, eventually, you got tired and had to return to sleep.

And then, Dirk would be alone. Again. Without you, Dirk felt so hollow. His chest felt empty, like something was missing.

So, could anyone blame him for jumping at the chance to spend more time with you?

You were so accommodating. So sweet. So patient. You invited him over to your house for sleepovers - if you could call it that when only one person was usually sleeping. You'd try your best to get him relaxed, talking softly, telling stories, turning the lights down and putting some music or movies on in the background. If anything, though, it only made Dirk feel the opposite. The lighting, the close proximity, the softness of your voice, the intimacy… He was horrible for thinking it, but it all felt so… Romantic. 

You didn't love him. Of course, you didn't. You'd seen how badly he'd fucked up. Had seen how shitty of a person he could be. You were too smart to love him. You were too good to love him. Really, even being friends with him was dangerous, but you were kind enough to be friends with him in spite of that. And, in turn, despite him knowing you didn't love him like that, it didn't make Dirk any less flustered. It didn't make his heart stop pounding against his ribcage.

It takes him many attempts, many sleepovers, in order to get it right. Maybe he even starts purposefully trying not to sleep so that he can stretch this out a little longer. But, one night, everything aligns just perfectly. One of your favorite movies played in the background, the light from the screen being the only source of light in the room. He forgets how, but somehow his head ended up in your lap. Your hands were in his hair, and you were mumbling something to him. It was as though, one moment he was aware.

And in the next, there was nothing. Somewhere in between nothingness and forever, Dirk became aware again. It felt real and yet not, but Dirk didn't question it. He felt fuzzy and things weren't like they usually were, but that was okay, it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, just unusual. 

He was home - looking out over the sea, on the roof of his apartment on Earth. This was his home, and he had always been here. You were snuggling into him as he held you in his arms. You were sitting on his mattress together. He had probably dragged it to the roof somehow, but he didn't think about it too hard. 

You both looked out over the horizon, at the pretty reds and oranges of the setting sun.

Your lips were at his ear, your voice fuzzy but clear. "I love you. I always have, I always will."

Dirk's chest felt so warm. He smiled. He spoke, but he didn't feel his lips move. "I love you, too. So much. I think about you all the time. You're all I ever think about," Usually, he would be afraid of saying something like that, but it felt okay now. "I don't want to leave you, ever. I never want to be apart from you."

Neither of you spoke again, but that's okay. For once, Dirk didn't overthink. He knew intrinsically that the silence was a comfortable one. You both stared out to the horizon together, held one another, until Dirk's vision faded into darkness again.

Dirk woke with a groan, blinking his eyes open. Disoriented, he got his bearings, looking about - before freezing up.

His arms were wrapped around your waist, his head nuzzled into your side as he slept curled up beside you. His shades had been set beside you on an end table. And you… You were still asleep, most likely completely unaware of your position.

Dirk cursed under his breath, a hand coming up to tug at his bedhead. Guilt curled around in his chest, metastasizing throughout the rest of his body. His limbs felt heavy and limp as the reality of what he'd done washed over him.

He had gone too far. He had taken advantage of you. He had used you. Touching you in his sleep, dreaming of you, daring to think you could ever love him. Dirk felt so sick. He was sick.

He had left as quickly as he could, not even changing out of his pajamas as he grabbed his shades and left as quickly as he could. He didn't deserve to be near, to be around you, to even spend another second in your presence, in your home where you invited him because you trusted him…

And you awoke all alone.

---

He hadn't dared speak to you again. You had tried to contact him, and he knew he deserved the brunt of your wrath, but he couldn't bare to answer. In fact, he had gone out of his way to cut off contact with his other friends, as well. It was obvious by now he was dangerous. He couldn't let anyone else he cared about be hurt, as well.

Even still, his actions still haunt him. You haunt him.

When he sleeps, he dreams of that night. Of the feeling of waking up curled around you. In his dreams, you wake before him, and are happy. You love him. 

Guilt thrums from within his chest every time he wakes and longs for it to be true. But, it's not. It never will be. He can't force you to love him… Even if, deep down, he wishes so badly he could. It would be so easy to give in, to take you-!

Dirk sighs deeply, running a hand over his face before trying to focus on the project he's busying himself with.

It has become painfully obvious that quitting you cold turkey was a no-go, so his Plan B is to make a robotic replica of you. This will hopefully sate his desires, while also keeping you safe. He loves you. He does. He loves you so much that he knows he isn't good for you, and will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

He runs a hand over the smooth metal that he plans to use as a faceplate. It was so cold. This was something he always found in common with himself and the machine's he built. Cold. He was always so cold, so much so that he was sure he was more machine than man.

But, you. You were always so warm. And when he was with you like that, he felt warm, too.

He groans, rubbing his temples. No, he had to stop thinking about that, about that night, about you-

The man jumped a bit in his seat as the buzzer to his door rang. In his swivel chair, he turned about to face the screen connected to his front door's camera.

You. You were standing at his stoop, holding a tray of something in your arms.

"Dirk?" You called out. "You there?"

He didn't have to answer. He could just pretend to be asleep… But, something inside him *itched* to speak to you. He had been without you for so long, and something inside him threatened to snap. It wasn't like ignoring a call or a text, when he can't see you - but you were right there. Tangible. Real. Only a few feet away. His fingers hovered over the button to his intercom, before pressing down.

A small lifetime passed before he had the courage to speak. "Uh, yeah, but I'm a bit busy right now."

"What!? No, you're not!"

Shit, you got him there. "It's just that today's not really a good day."

"Dirk, do you even know today is? It's your birthday!"

Behind his sunglasses, Dirk's eyebrows rose. Was it really? Shit! Fumbling with his phone, Dirk opened up his messages. If it was his birthday, then it meant, more importantly, it was *Dave's* birthday! Trying to ignore the guilt he felt at so many missed messages, he quickly sent a "Happy birthday!" The exclamation point was essential, as it implied excitement and happiness.

You pleaded, staring straight up into the camera. "C'mon, please let me in! Just for a bit. Me and Jane made this cake just for you!"

Dirk couldn't bring it in himself to say no. The look in your eyes, the sadness and desperation in your voice. He knew he needed to keep you safe, but how could he ever say no to you? 

"I'll be down in a second."

And he was. As he let you in, he hoped it wasn't too obvious that he was shaking - with restraint, with nervousness, with longing.

You grinned as you presented him the cake. "An orange creamsicle cake!" You told him, as you set it on his dining table. 

It was colored a bright orange and lined with white frosting, a slice of orange placed atop it. In Jane's handwriting, 'Happy Birthday, Dirk!' was spelt out in frosting, in big bold lettering. Dirk felt himself get choked up. You had both made this for him… He didn't deserve this.

"Thank you, but," He started, not quite sure how to get out of this. "I… I don't think I can eat this."

"But, I thought orange was your favorite." God, the way your face dropped killed him. 

"It is, I just… I'm not really hungry right now."

"Have you even eaten anything at all today?"

Dirk thought for a moment. He had had something to eat earlier. A bag of chips… WaIt, no, maybe that was yesterday. Either way, Dirk's stomach gave an answer before he could, growling loud enough for even you to hear.

You crossed your arms over your chest, staring him down with a stern look. "That's what I thought. Even if you don't want the cake, you're going to have something to eat."

"No, no, I do. I just… I don't think I deserve it."

"You do. I promise you do. Why would you think you didn't?"

Dirk looked away. He couldn't do this. Not here. Not now. Not ever. 

A tense silence filled the room, the both of you drowning in it, before you spoke up again. "Is this about the last sleepover?"

Oh, God. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry. I- I don't know what I did wrong to make you leave like that-"

"No! No, no, it wasn't you. It wasn't anything you did, at all. It was me." It was always me.

"Dirk, you didn't do anything wrong, I promise." 

"No, I did. I did and I'm sorry-"

"Dirk," You interrupted. "Have you been overthinking again?"

"No," He paused. "Yes. Maybe."

You flash him an exasperated grin, shaking your head. "I really wish you told me earlier. I wanted to give you space because I thought I made you uncomfortable. I promise, you didn't do anything wrong or to hurt me."

Not that you knew of, at least.

Dirk let out a shaky sigh. "Okay. Okay…"

And then, suddenly, he's in your arms, pulled into a hug. He freezes up, but he's so warm. You're so warm. It takes everything in him, but he raises his arms to curl around your back. And you're holding each other, like that night, like in his dreams.

"Do you want to have another one? Tonight?" He asks.

He looks down, watches as you grin up at him. "I'd like that. I'll have to get my stuff, though, so I'll be right back."

The idea of you leaving him again is terrifying, but he manages to bury it down. He has to act normal for this to go down right. After all, you want this, right?

He nods, before turning his attention back to the cake. "Do you want a slice?"

"Yeah," you nod, before heading out the door. "I'll have some when I get back!"

He nods, and watches you leave. He feels… So excited. He can't help the grin that rises to his lips as he digs through his drawers at his workplace. He had experimented with making different sleeping concoctions to knock him out before he was able to learn to, but none had worked on him. He had a feeling they would on you, however.

Using a needle, he extracted a good amount of the medicine, before cutting a slice of cake for you, and injecting the medicine into the slice.

Excitement bubbled in his chest as Dirk sat back and began to eat his own, untampered slice of cake. So sweet, just like you.

He couldn't wait until you returned, until you would become his and never, ever leave.

Until you and he slept together in each other's arms, just like he'd always dreamed.

#yandere x reader #yandere homestuck #yandere hs #dirk strider x reader #dirk x reader #homestuck x reader #hs x reader #dirk hs #homestuck dirk #dirk strider #dirk #hs dirk #dirk homestuck #yandere #needles tw #needle tw #needle cw #needles cw #needle mention #needles mention #drugging #tw drugging #drugging cw #drugging tw #needle #needles #2k words babeyyyy #the birthday part is at the end dw

[lacheri]

11:29 PM, 4/20

pairing: stoner!Eren and fem bodied reader

content: smoking/drugs, dumbification, finger fucking, penetration, porn without plot, minors DNI

summary: eren's been trying to fuck you for years now, and he's got a different angle to play at this time. all it takes are a few pretty words and free weed.

wc: 3.5k

notes: happy 4/20 lmfao i wrote this in two hours and i'm posting this unedited and half asleep

‘Rolling up, you sliding through?’

Your phone illuminated brightly against your face as you held your phone above you, your bed’s soft comforter brought up to your chin. You bit your lip, contemplating Eren’s invitation. Your eyes glanced to the clock in the corner of your phone screen, blinking a couple of times. ‘11:29 PM’ it read back.

‘Pleaaaase, 4/20 is almost over ):’ Eren had resorted to double texting, and you sighed, his battle easily won. You tried to believe it was fought hard, but you knew perfectly well that you were wrapped around Eren’s pretty little finger. He called, you answered. Simple as that.

‘I want a blunt all to myself for this Jaeger. I’m literally in bed right now’ you typed back quickly, clicking the off button on the side of your device, begrudgingly throwing your blanket off your body as the heat escaped. You gazed down at your attire, sweatshirt and sleep shorts bundled up to your form, and you sighed once again. Eren was going to have to accept you like this, because there was absolutely no way in Hell that you could fathom throwing on real clothes this late at night.

‘What’re you wearing? Send pics’

‘Eren I’m LITERALLY!!! On my way to your house right now’. This boy was going to be the death of you, or at least whatever brain cells you had left.

Fuzzy pink slides adorned on your feet, hair thrown up in the messiest ‘neat’ bun you could manage, you pocketed your keys and wallet. You grabbed your bookbag in the corner of your room full of paraphernalia, knowing well by now that Eren was too lazy to buy bongs or bowls, and made your way out of your home, locking the front door on your way out. You hit the unlock button on your car, throwing the bag in the passenger seat and set out for your late night journey.

It wasn’t uncommon for your best friend to hit you up so late, in fact it was Eren’s peak hours for hanging out. He never genuinely inconvenienced you, just an annoyance because every single time you got that invite text or call, your head would have just hit the pillow beneath you, sleep on the horizon. Traffic was the best at this time too, you would reason on the way there, virtually no cars on the road, turning your usual twenty minute ride into a ten minute one.

When you rolled up Eren’s driveway, you could see the dark red lights of his bedroom through the upstairs window on the front of the house. You picked your phone out of your pocket, texting a quick ‘I’m here’. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder and climbed out of your car. By the time you made it to his front door, Eren was swinging it open, a goofy smile on his face.

“Just us tonight?” you asked, referring to the lack of cars in the driveway as you glided through the entryway.

“Yeah, feeling greedy. We haven’t hung out just us in awhile,” Eren smirked, leaning back and letting his eyes travel down your spine as you slid by him. He reached and pulled the door closed, locking it quickly and following quickly behind you.

You spent most of your nights here, knowing the pathway to Eren’s room. You jogged up the stairs, oblivious to Eren’s eyes trained in on your bouncing ass in your loose fitted shorts. His bedroom door was wide open, and you navigated over clothes thrown haphazardly on his floor to his unmade bed. You bounced as you sat down, hitting the mattress with your full weight and unzipping your bag, picking out your favorite bowl. Eren lifted the corner of his mouth, clearly amused at how at home you had made yourself.

“Comfy?” he asked, a teasing tone to his voice as he joined you on the bed, rolling tray and jar of bud in hand.

“Mhm,” you hummed, eyeing Eren’s hands as they set quickly to work. His grinder sat on the bed behind him, and after picking out a few clusters of green from the jar, he reached behind him and popped the top off, going through the motions of getting prepped for the smoke session. “What’d you do today?”

Eren shot you a dumb founded look, “It’s 4/20, what do you think I’ve been doing all day?”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up in surrender, “Just making a joke, asshole.”

He chuckled, extending his hand out so you could pass him your bowl, packing it not long after. Eren looked around his mattress for a lighter, eyebrows drawn together as he couldn’t find one. You smirked then, extending the black lighter you had packed in your bag, and Eren smiled gratefully. He flicked the lighter once it was in his possession, pointer finger resting over the choke as he placed the pipe to his lips, inhaling deeply as the fresh green turned to ash. He lifted his long finger off the choke hole, removing the pipe as he held the smoke in for a few seconds, eyes instantly glazing as he exhaled.

Eren was one of those smokers that the second he had a hit of weed, it was written all over his face that he was high, even if he wasn’t. When Eren picked up the habit in highschool, his parents knew instantly what the boy had been doing during his “study sessions” with his friends. Now that he was an adult and moved out of his childhood home, Eren was pretty free in his indulgences, no longer carrying around eye drops to try and help him appear as innocent as possible.

After his second hit, Eren passed you back your bowl and lighter, coughing lightly as he exhaled, “What about you? What’d you do today?”

“Not much, spent all day watching documentaries and smoking my vape,” you laughed lightly, positioning the pipe to your own lips.

Eren’s eyes drank in the sight of your pretty plump lips as they wrapped around the tip of the pipe, fingers copying his as you bent your finger over the choke. The lighter ignited after a single flick, warm colored flames illuminating your face. It was like Eren was watching you in slow motion, but it was always like that with you, even when he wasn’t high. He could see the fire in your eyes as they focused downwards to your actions, and Eren felt his mouth go dry. You pulled the bowl away, making eye contact with him as the smoke exited your lips, licking your face as it traveled towards the ceiling on your exhale.

The two of you made small talk as you passed the bowl back and forth, Eren making a face once the bud was dead. He packed another bowl, repeating the rotation until that one was dead. The two of you thoroughly fried, he put the pipe on his bedside table and leaned his back against the wall by his bed. You mirrored him, resting your head on his broad shoulder as the two of you enjoyed each other’s company.

“We should make edibles this weekend,” you suggested, fingers playing with the drawstring of your hoodie. “Maybe invite the group over and get zooted and play a game or something.”

“Zooted?” Eren snorted. “I haven’t heard that word in years, grandma.”

You shot Eren a glare, which he began to laugh at, “I’m hip, okay? Zooted is making a comeback.”

“Stop trying to fit in with the youth, Myrtle,” he teased, wrapping his arm around your waist to tuck you into his side. “Man, if I was only 50 years older.”

You lightly elbowed his side, “You wish you could bag 70 year old me. I’m a fucking catch.”

“I wish I could bag you period,” Eren confessed, probably for the hundredth time of you knowing him. “How come you’ve never let me take you out?”

“Because, you’d just fuck and dump me and then I wouldn’t have a plug anymore,” you pouted, purposefully snuggling in closer.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked seriously, positioning his neck to the side so he could look down at you.

You looked up, centimeters apart from his face, “That’s what you did with all the other girls.”

“But you’re my best friend,” Eren frowned, taking his hand and pushing your hair behind your ear. “I wouldn't do that to you.”

“Don’t know if I wanna’ really find that out,” you smiled sadly.

“C’mon, let me prove it to you,” Eren licked his lips. “Fuck me, right now, and I’ll take you out tomorrow.”

You felt a pulse in your pussy suddenly, gulping spit down as you broke the eye contact, “I don’t know ‘Ren. We’ve been friends since highschool, what if it makes things weird?”

“You can’t look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you’ve never thought about it, about us,” his voice was a hare above a whisper. “Because I think about it all the time. ‘Is why I hit you up all the time, I like you stupid, I always have.”

This confession was so different from all the other ones. Eren was practically begging to let him in between your legs on a weekly basis, ever since you had met him. Never once had he been this honest though, so genuine sounding about his feelings. He had a point as well, you thought about being with him all the time. You were always at his house or going out somewhere together, you spent all your free time with him, of course you would have feelings for Eren.

“If,” you started, your eyes blinking rapidly as you returned your gaze to his red ones. “I say yes, and things are weird after, we’re going to pretend like this never happened and we go back to being friends.”

“Deal.”

Eren’s lips crashed into your’s, any and all hesitation rolling off your body as you eagerly returned his kiss. His other arm circled you, bringing you in somehow even closer to him as your hands grabbed both of his cheeks, feeling the flex of his jaw as you smashed your lips together. Eren’s hand traveled under the hem of your sweatshirt to the small of your back, guiding you to sit in his lap. Legs on either side of his hips, your tongues slipped through the both of your lips, meeting in the middle.

Maybe it was the high, maybe it was Eren, but the throbbing in your cunt only expanded as Eren smoothed his hands all over the middle of your torso. They traveled up to the swell of your breasts, free from a bra, cupping both tits in his large hands. His thumbs slid and teased your nipples, hardening instantly under his touch. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his palms even more, your hips flicking as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers.

You both moaned into each other’s mouths at the roll of your hips, feeling Eren’s dick harden fast underneath your clothed center. Eren had been wearing a pair of thin grey sweatpants, leaving not much to the imagination while he was in this state. You felt his lips scrape against your bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth and sucking gently. He released it, a string of saliva linking to the two of you together.

“I’ve been imagining this for forever,” Eren’s eyes were glazed and deep red when you met his gaze. “I just never thought this would happen.”

“I’ve been wanting you too,” you admitted, your dirty little secret exposed.

He smirked at your confession, hands still toying with your breasts. Silencing you once more with his passionate kiss, he moved his hands downwards and to your back until he met the waistband of your shorts. He easily slid under the hem, gripping your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading you apart. You felt your pussy flutter, the indirect contact sending you into a deep pit of arousal, your senses heightened greatly.

It was like Eren could read your mind, and his fingers traveled to your spread cunt over his lap, running a finger over your slit over your panties. You whined, pressing your hips down to achieve a greater pressure from his hand, in turn allowing your wetness to seep through the cotton of your panties. Eren chuckled against your lips, reading your body language loud and clear. He pushed the fabric aside, allowing his knuckles to brush directly into your folds. You moaned into his mouth as he spread your arousal around your vulva. When his thumb bumped against your clit, you felt your patience snap entirely.

“‘Ren, need your fingers, now,” you panted, eyes half lidded as his kiss traveled to the underside of your jaw.

“You got it, baby girl,” he hummed into your skin. There was no resistance as he pushed his middle finger into your opening. “Fuck, you’re fucking soaked. This all for me?”

You couldn’t find your voice, nodding and whining out as he pumped his single digit into your pussy. His touch was slow, deliberate, trying to memorize every single ridge and flutter of your walls as you pulsed around him. Eren’s mouth was dry, dick hard and throbbing, completely lost in the feeling of you sucking his finger in deeper. He couldn’t comprehend the fact that his cock would be replacing his fingers soon, finally fucking you like he had imagined for years now.

His middle finger dared to pull out, and you let out a desperate whine, thinking that was his plan. You gasped in relief and pleasure as his ring finger pushed past your entrance, clenching tightly on his fingers. Eren found solace in this, perceiving your flutters as permission to go finger fuck you at an ungodly pace. He positioned his wrist as a more comfortable angle, and his fingers pumped inside of you at the speed of light.

Your eyebrows came together, mouth hanging open as you squeaked and whined, Eren’s other hand finding purchase on your jaw. He squeezed your cheeks together lightly, forcing your lips to pout as he maintained direct eye contact with you. His own lips hung open, and you could see your reflection in his blown out pupils. It only enticed you more, you looked heavenly. Eren couldn’t have worded it before himself if you had verbalized this, whole heartedly agreeing with you.

“You’re so tight,” Eren groaned out, his hand leaving your chin and slipping two fingers in between your lips. “Suck, baby.”

You did as you were told, Eren’s fingers slowing to fuck up into roughly, hitting your sweet spot over and over. Your tongue circled around his knuckles, lips vibrating on his fingers as your moans were silenced. Eren was thoroughly enjoying himself, seeing you completely under his control like this. You were putty in the palm of his hands, literally.

He slid his fingers out of your cunt so suddenly, feeling the gush of your arousal against your inner thighs as his hand left your shorts. His other hand fell out of your mouth, moving back to your jaw as you felt the wetness of your spit spread across your face. Eren brought the hand he was fucking you with to his own mouth, and you were practically drooling at the sight of him sucking your pussy juices off of his fingers.

“Delicious,” he cooed after he pulled them from his lips. “Just like I always imagined.”

You took this as your opportunity to remove some of your clothing. You tugged your hoodie over your head, tossing it on the floor. Eren followed suit, removing his own white t-shirt and reattaching his lips to yours. You tasted hints of yourself, not at all repulsed, in fact the exact opposite. You tasted sweet, tart but sweet.

You pushed yourself away from Eren, scooting off his lap in order to tear off your shorts and panties. Eren mirrored you, almost ripping his pants and boxers off as he slid them past his thighs and ankles to the floor. He remained in his seated position, eyes swirling and fingers twitching at his sides as he watched your crawl back to him. You placed a sloppy kiss to his lips before turning your body around, placing your feet on the mattress on either side of his lap. Sat in a full crouch now, you grabbed Eren’s cock, pumping him a few times with both of your hands in a screw motion. He moaned from behind you, his own hands gripping your ass cheeks to support your frame.

You guided Eren to your hovering pussy, teasing your clit, soaking him in your dripping heat. He cursed underneath you, his right hand moving to your hip as you lowered yourself on his length. Eren groaned loudly as the feelings of satisfaction and relief flowed through his body, his own heightened senses taking over. You moved to rest on your knees when you felt Eren bottom out inside of you, a string of moans and whimpers leaving your lips. You arched your back and Eren leaned back more, eyes stationed on your beautiful round ass.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he ran a hand up to the back of your head, untangling your messy bun so your hair fell free down your back. “C’mon baby, bounce on my dick.”

You lifted your hips, slamming down to his pelvis urgently. It was so overwhelming, the feeling of his cock filling you to the brim making your brain empty. Your eyes screwed shut, mouth hanging open dumbly as drool coated the swell of your lips. You bounced again, and Eren yanked your hair back as he watched your pussy stretch around him, close to snapping and drilling into you as he saw the creamy ring form around his base. You were a moaning mess, unable to think clearly as your body took over. Pushing all your weight into your knees and palms resting on Eren’s thighs, you fastened your pace, ass bouncing every time Eren’s fat tip brushed up against your cervix.

You felt the sharp sting on your cheek and heard the resounding slap of his hand on your right cheek, tears springing to your eyes, “Fuck, Eren, you feel so good.”

Taking your hips into his strong hands, Eren was finally at his brink as he thrusted hard up into. You yelped, letting yourself go limp as he slammed into your cunt at a dangerous pace. He was in full control now, fucking you into a stupor.

Your hand left it’s home of his thigh, traveling to your aching center to rub your clit. Eren’s position was perfect, rubbing the underside of his shaft against your g-spot. When you opened your eyes, you could see his toes curling, legs flexing and twitching. He wasn’t going to last long, your pussy putting him under a spell. You circled your clit with your pointer and middle fingers, throat raw from all the noises escaping you. All you felt was Eren, all you could hear was Eren, he was filling your entire being up, replacing any and all thoughts they may have lingered in your brain.

“Gonna’ cum,” you whined, fingers moving even faster.

“I’m so fucking close, fucking cum baby,” Eren growled, thrusts desperate and becoming irregular.

You stilled above him, a breathless scream heaving from your throat as you gushed around him. Your pussy clenched so tight, and Eren couldn’t hold back. Because as empty as your brain was, Eren was in the exact same state as he shot his thick load into you, filling your tight cunt up with his cum. You milked his cock, walls convulsing in your mind blowing orgasm. Black spots appeared in your vision when you realized you had forgotten to breathe, you took a deep gasp of air.

You were a panting, sweaty mess hovering over him. Eren was in awe, watching beads of his white seed leak out of your center. He’d worry about the consequences when his brain could comprehend what had just happened, but for now, the deep primal urge of filling you up was sedated. Eren didn’t think he could’ve imagined fucking you for the first time any better than this. And when you finally lifted your hips to release him, he felt a wave of sadness, your beautiful pussy no longer surrounding him.

“Did you, oh my God, Eren,” you lifted your hand in front of you, seeing the creamy white of his cum smeared on your fingers. “You came inside of me?”

“Sorry, baby,” he caught his breath as you turned your head over your shoulder to glare at him. “I’ll buy you Plan B in the morning, promise.”

“I’m on the pill, but still,” you huffed, letting the anger leave you as you realized Eren would take responsibility. “You didn’t know that.”

Eren laughed without humor, “Oh well, at least I know for next time. Now c’mere, wanna’ hold you while I roll a blunt.”

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

#eren jaeger #eren smut #eren x reader #attack on titan #eren fanfiction #stoner eren #tw: weed #eren yaeger #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin eren #shingeki no kyojin

[duskholland]

Warm | Tom Holland Smut

warnings ↠ nsfw, 18+ ! this is just some very loving c*ckwarming with sleepy boyfriend tom, ft unprotected sex and oral (fem receiving)

word count ↠ a wholesome 3k

a/n ↠ got inspired by the ig live yesterday and whipped up a lil something to satisfy the devil in me. let me know what you think!

The material of Tom’s hoodie is soft against your cheek, and as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, it feels as though the weight of the world is rolling from your shoulders. His hands are on your waist, tucked beneath the hem of your t-shirt and resting gently over the curves of your hips. As you hum against his shoulder, you feel him shift his fingers, tracing delicate, circular patterns over your skin. 

“Your hoodie is so soft,” you mumble against him, punctuating the words with a few soft kisses to the base of his neck. Tom squeezes your sides, bringing his lips to the top of your head where he leaves a lingering kiss to your hairline. “Wish we could stay like this forever.”

One of his hands moves away from your waist, drifting up to cup the back of your head. As Tom’s nimble fingers rest over your hair, he uses his other arm to pull you closer. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, both of you tangled up in sweats and comfy clothes, and the feeling of his warm body pressed against yours makes you sigh contentedly. 

“We can stay like this all day?” Tom offers. He slowly strokes over the back of your head, the gesture full of a gentle tenderness you’d missed. He’s been so busy recently, with filming and press engagements, that it’s been a while since you’ve had time to exist like this. Two people, curled up together, wrapped up in dizzying love. “Missed you so much this week, darling.”

You smile against his neck and finally pull back so you can look at him properly. You’re resting over Tom’s thighs, straddling his green sweats comfortably, and your position gives you the perfect opportunity to get a lovely, long look at your boyfriend’s face. With his pink hood drawn up around his head, you can make out a few strands of his brown hair, long and a little shiny, and you find your fingers drawn towards them. You reach up, smiling at his tut of disapproval as you gently knock the hood down, revealing his bed of messy, chestnut curls.

“Missed you too,” you finally reply, carding a hand through his hair. With your other fingers, you reach out to cup his cheek, grinning as he presses his face into your palm. Tom’s got his eyes wide and flooded with gentle love, and it makes you melt. This man has you wrapped around his little finger. “Missed a lot of things about you, actually.”

“Yeah?” Tom’s lips quirk into a lazy smirk as he draws you a little nearer. He smells faintly of cologne. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know…” As you muse, you let your index finger wander down the bridge of his nose, tracing over the light freckles. “Missed hearing your lovely voice. It always sounds so raspy in the morning like this.” You lean in to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “And I missed your hugs. God, Tom, you give the best hugs.” As if to prove your point, Tom tightens his grip around you. “Missed your lips, too.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” He’s got that cheeky glint in his eyes, and you nod your head immediately. “I think they missed you too, love. Why don’t you pay them a visit?”

The snort that leaves your mouth is a loud burst of twisted sound, but it makes Tom’s smile grow wider. You wind both arms around his neck and shuffle closer, finally bridging the distance and nuzzling your mouth against his. 

Kissing Tom has to be one of your favourite things ever. The way your lips meld together, dancing in sync as he presses against you with eager force always makes your heart race, no matter how long you’ve been together. His lips are warm and gentle, and as they meet with yours in a lazy exploration of mutual enjoyment, you find yourself melting against him. His hands are back on your hips, and they roam the expanse of your naked back as his tongue flicks into your mouth, causing you to groan softly. When he drags his fingers up and discovers your lack of bra, he’s quick to shift his palms around to the front of your body, holding the curves of your breasts in each hand.

“I bloody love you,” he murmurs, speaking against your lips. The pads of his thumbs brush over your nipples and you gasp into his mouth, careening further into his touch. “You’re the most beautiful woman on the planet, lovie.” 

You kiss him with a little more intensity, your heart fluttering in response to his sweet, sweet sentiment. It’s early - the both of you had only woken up a half-hour ago - so Tom’s voice is strained and raspy. The sound of his husky tones brings a thrill of excitement to the heat between your legs. 

As his tongue explores your mouth and your fingers tangle in his hair, you become aware of a building pressure pushing up against your sweats. You start to grind down against him, enjoying both the friction it provides to your clit and also the way the movement draws deep, desperate whines from Tom. 

“You wanna know a secret?” You ask him, pulling away to pant in his ear. When Tom hums, you kiss his earlobe. “Think I might’ve missed your cock, too.”

His chuckle rumbles into the air. “Is that so?” Tom’s hands slip away from your chest, and they anchor down your hips. You hum as he guides you, pushing you further against his crotch as your centres meet. You can feel the outline of his length straining up against you, and the sensation makes you grin. “I’ve missed being inside your tight little pussy.” He leaves a kiss just behind your ear, right over a patch of sensitive skin. “Maybe we should do something about that?”

You almost whine as you nod, eagerly reaching down to release the drawstrings of his sweats. In return, Tom pulls free your own, and there’s a moment of shuffling around as you sit up and carefully wriggle out of both your trousers and your panties, Tom bundling them up and folding them into a neat pile beside him. Once you’re settled, you reach beneath the waistband of Tom’s sweats and pull his full member free, all whilst his hot lips trail up and down the column of your neck. 

There’s no burning desperation to your movements as you slowly work one another up. Rather, it’s gentle. Soft caresses, tender lips, whispered words of praise. You’re kissing him as you slowly slide your hand up and down his shaft, and he’s swallowing your moans with his tongue when two of his fingers slip into your slick pussy and work you open. It’s loving and familiar as he crooks his fingertips and nudges up against your g-spot, stimulating your passage until you’re bucking down against him, your movements distracted as your cunt drips for him.

“Need you inside me,” you moan out, a slight pull to your voice. You whimper as Tom’s hot fingers slip out from inside you, and then gasp when he uses his wet fingertips to rub over your clit. The bud pulses and you almost lose it, but a panging in your cunt reminds you of your overwhelming desire to have him inside you. “Tom,” you whine, skimming your thumb over his weepy tip, “Stop teasing.”

Tom growls into your ear, but he reluctantly moves his fingers away from you. He meets your eyes as he very purposefully brings his hand to his mouth and makes a show of licking his digits clean, moaning softly as he does it. 

“Delicious,” he decides. When you throw him a light scowl, he grabs you by the hips and brings you nearer. “Now,” he says, dropping his voice. His hand joins yours on his cock, and together you guide his head through your slit. You let Tom do the hard work, whimpering quietly as he lines his tip with your entrance. “How about we take care of this little problem, eh?”

Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you slowly, slowly lower yourself over him, tossing your head back as you adjust to the stretch. Tom’s lips move over your neck, sucking a soft hickey to your skin, anchoring you down. The sensation of his member settling deep inside you after so long makes you grab fistfuls of his hoodie, your knuckles tightening around it as you gasp softly.

“Fuck,” you murmur, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You’re fully seated now, and you can feel every ridge and line of his cock pushed up against your walls, as if in high definition. Everything is amplified, and the longer you sit there wrapped up in his arms and with his lips now dusting over your temple, the closer to Tom you feel. “I love you,” you whimper, voice breathless.

Tom runs his hands over your back, soothing you with large circles of his palms. “Love you too, darling,” he mumbles. He shifts a little on the sofa, and you moan as the head of his cock brushes deeper. “Feel so warm ‘n snug around me.”

You feel yourself clench at his words, and make a very conscious decision to loosen up. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, you pull yourself away from the crook of Tom’s neck, pouting a little as the soft fabric of his hoodie leaves your face.

“Do you want to stay like this for a little bit?” You ask, eyes skimming his beautiful face. Your heart fills with appreciation for the man as you pick up all the small details that make him so attractive to you: the worn curves of his nose, the splattering of sun-kissed freckles over his cheeks, the ruffled hairs of his eyebrow. Your thumb absently moves up to his eyebrow and you draw your touch across it, feeling the soft hairs with your finger and sighing as you admire him. 

“How long?”

You crane your neck back, glancing briefly at the paused TV. “‘Til the end of the show? Should be about ten minutes.” You move your hand into his hair, feeling the silky strands fall past your fingers. “Just wanna feel close to you.”

Tom presses his lips to the tip of your nose, drawing a loose giggle from you. “Alright,” he agrees. He drops his voice as he shifts his mouth back to your ear, hot breath flushing over your neck as he adds, quieter, “I’m going to wreck you afterwards, though.”

A shiver passes through you, and your hum mixes with the sounds of the TV as Tom immediately unpauses the programme. You can’t see the screen from where you’re sitting, but you turn down Tom’s offer to reposition. The show is the last thing on your mind, and you’re glad you’re not distracted by it. 

For you, there’s nothing more fulfilling than hiding your face into your boyfriend’s shoulder and feeling him everywhere. Hands on your sides, caressing you and drawing you closer. His lips softly passing over the top of your head. His length, plugging you up to the hilt. Each time one of you shifts, you release a quiet whimper as arcs of pleasure roll up your spine, and when you clench in response, Tom grunts. There’s something so easily private about it: no end goal but just to enjoy one another, and spend this quiet moment holed up in each other’s arms. 

You’ve never felt this loved before, and it brings a lump to your throat.

“You okay?” Tom asks, shifting a hand to hold the back of your head. You hum, tilting your face to the side so you can kiss the point behind his ear.

“Yeah. Just really love you.”

His eyes flicker down to meet yours, flooding with concern when he notes the tears spread thinly over your eyes. “You’re so precious,” he lilts, his accent twanging prominently. He brings you nearer, kissing your forehead in several spots. “I’m going to marry you one day.”

You kiss him, letting your hand travel up to rest against his cheek. “Good,” you whisper against him. There’s a dizzying moment where you just look at him, his eyes mirroring yours, flooded deep with gratitude that rocks you to your bones. You feel safe wrapped up in his arms, and as the music for the credits drifts through the air, you find yourself exhaling. “Show’s over.”

“Lay down for me, love.” 

You whimper when you feel his length slide from you, your cunt feeling cold and empty without him, but he kisses at your pout until it fades away. Tom follows you down onto the couch cushions, caging you in with an arm either side your head. After a moment, you feel his cock sliding through your slit again, pressing up against your clit in a way that makes you moan. 

“I can taste myself on your tongue,” you admit, pulling away from a deep kiss with a perplexed expression on your face. 

“Fucking lovely, isn’t it?” Tom gains a rather mischievous look on his face. “Actually…” 

He pulls away before you can grab him to stay, and Tom slips down between your legs with a cheeky smirk on his lips. 

“Tom,” you whine, scrunching your nose. “I want you.”

“In a minute.” He presses your knees apart and leaves a soft kiss to the inside of one of your thighs. “Patience, my darling girl.”

You try your best to look unimpressed, but it’s very difficult to maintain the rouse as he draws his tongue through your slit. You reach down to grip at his hair, pulling him closer as he trails his mouth all over you. He moans straight against your sopping folds, teasing your clit with his tongue as he slides two fingers back into you, exploring your wet heat eagerly.

“Tom,” you cry out, your back arching off the sofa. His free hand immediately goes to your side, pushing you back down and keeping you in place as his mouth explores you. Noises of your wet arousal fill the air as he sucks over your clit, teasing you, edging you until you’re whimpering. “C’mon, Tom, don’t wanna cum like this. Need to be full of you.”

When he pulls back, Tom runs the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the shine of your slick and his spit combined. He cracks a smile when he takes in the fucked-out expression on your face, pulling up until he’s hovering above you once more. One of his hands caresses your leg before loosely opening it up, and the other rests over your hair near your head. He kisses you softly.

“Are you ready?” He asks. 

“Yes,” you whimper, pressing down against him to prove your point. Your voice twists into a gasp as Tom slips into you, the movement easy and slick. Your fingers grip at the back of his hoodie as he rocks against you, your cunt squeezing around him as you take him wholly. “Shit.”

Tom nips at your necks, strands of his hair rubbing up against your hot skin. “So fucking perfect,” he murmurs. He pulls out before fucking back into you with a deep, slow thrust. “Fuck, you’re such an angel.” He leaves another kiss to your neck as he gradually quickens his pace. “My angel, aren’t you?”

You pull him back up, meeting his mouth in response. As you kiss him, his hand on your thigh shifts up and intertwines with one of yours, your fingers tangling as the rest of your bodies do, too. You’re grateful for the contact - keeping you anchored together like an emotional tether, a constant reminder of your love. 

Everything about the moment feels so intimate, his pace slow but still fulfilling. Each time Tom thrusts his hips to meet yours, you feel him in you deep, nudging against those spots only he could reach. Each rut presses you one step closer to heaven, and your praises come out garbled, dissolving into his mouth as his lips caress you, tender and warm. 

Tom pulls away after minutes of deep kissing to stare at you, brown eyes full of warmth. “I’m so lucky,” he stammers out, voice strained. You widen your leg, granting him easier access, and both of you groan as the position lets him in deeper. You can feel that telltale warmth building in the pit of your stomach. “Love of my life, you are. You and your- fuck, your perfect little pussy.” His cheeks are red as he kisses your jaw. “Can’t wait to fuck you for the rest of my life, love.”

His words ignite something inside you that goes much deeper than superficial pleasure, and you find yourself clinging to him, gripping his hand with renewed strength as your other twists down between your bodies. Your fingertips connect with your clit, and you glide them over the bud, moaning louder as you feel your orgasm jerk closer.

“Cum in me,” you find yourself saying, eyes trained on the spot between your legs where Tom’s cock meets with your cunt. “Wanna feel you fill me up.” 

His head finds the crook of your neck, sweaty forehead pushing up against your skin as he grunts. “I’m not going to last much longer.”

“It’s okay.” You squeeze his hand as you gasp for breath. “I’m close.”

Tom peaks a few moments later, and the action of his guttural groans spilling into the air coupled with the way his cock pulses as he empties his load inside you makes you spasm over the edge too. You whimper as you orgasm, a throbbing warmth spreading across you as Tom kisses your neck over and over, his fingers gripping yours tightly as you enjoy the high together, basking in it. Your mouth hangs half-open as you vocalise your climax, your body on fire as he fucks you through it, the moment spanning a short infinity.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, finally stilling. He stays nudged up inside you as he sits up, supporting his weight on his arms, your hands still joined. Tom kisses you passionately, and you feel him smile against your lips as you kiss him back. “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You bring your free hand up to his head, pushing his hair out from his face as you cup his cheek, looking into his captivating brown eyes. You look at him, and you know that there’s no safer vessel for your heart. You know he’s the love of your life. 

“Love you too,” you say, pausing to kiss him between each word. By the end, both of you are smiling. “You know you’re still in me, yeah?”

Tom chuckles, nodding. “Yeah.” He kisses your nose. “You’re warm.”

-

------

yeah you could say im soft for hoodie!tom...

masterlist linked in bio !

please let me know if you’ve got any thoughts :D askbox is always open; feel free to rb/comment (pls)

stay safe my lovely pals <3

#keyword tonight is: soft #can you tell i missed tom...? lmao #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland #my writing #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #smut

[lmaoplsdontlookatme]

i know nobody asked but heres this anyways

minors 🚫

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

itll depend on the kind of sex you have really.

if he wants to fuck you over the bathroom counter, hell kiss the back of your neck afterwards before tucking himself away and going about like nothing happened.

if youre in bed or on the couch and hes taking you slow and deep, hell keep you caged in until he comes down and afterwards, youd better not have any plans because youre likely not moving from the position until mikey decides hes ready (:

if he manhandles you and fucks you rough, hell keep a bit of a distance but still hover. like hell make sure youre okay by bringing you a towel and a bottle of water and turning off the light, but he wont join you under the covers - hell sit on the edge of the bed and watch you until youre asleep (and then prob for a few hours afterwards he just wants to make sure he didnt break you lmao)

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

mikey really likes his hands!! he likes how big they are when he holds your hands, he likes how his long fingers curl around knives and hammers and whatever tools and weapons he uses. he likes seeing his hands on your body!!! he looooooves to touch u ok but anyways he also really likes that his fingers can brutally destroy anything he wants but he can also be gentle enough to make masks and maybe he,, picks up gardening or smth ill get back to that

he loves ur hair,, idr who said it or where i read it and i think about it EVERY DAY and cry but once on the R A R E occassion EVER EVER EVER that youve heard him say anything, he had put his hand on the top of your head and you looked up to meet his eyes and he bent down to sniff your hair and he squinted and you SWORE he uttered ‘pretty’ and akdbdjsksj im so sorry i dont remember who i got this from but ill die on this hill 😭

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

(((: youre gonna be full all the time! surprise! michael definitely doesnt want kids and if u asked hed finish on your skin instead but if u dont mind BOY OH BOY hell fuck you silly and finish deep in your guts and then hell bring you a pair of underwear and just stare at you until you take the hint and put them on. you learn pretty quickly on that he really likes the idea of himself leaking out of you, its like his little claim over u <33

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

michael had definitely stalked you for a long time before you were together. even now when youre out and about, you get the feeling that hes watching you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

awe the big guy doesnt have any experience. im sure he was never given a proper sexual education in the hospital! that being said, his mother was a stripper, his father figure was nasty and vulgar, and he had an older teenage sister. mikey definitely knows about fucking ok. hes just never done it!!!

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

again it all really depends on the mood and type of sex youre having! mostly though, he likes to sit on the couch with his arms wrapped tight around your waist while you rock in his lap and pant his name in his ear ((:

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

i dont think purposefully hed be humorous, but he would smile and give raspy little ‘hehs’ that you learn are his laughs when he would tease you or you would tell him you love him or whenever yknow - the longer youre together, the more comfortable hed be!

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

big hairey man ((((((:

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

again, it depends! mikey didnt have a healthy sex ed so hed probably in the beginning of ur relationship just fuck you from behind and call it good but now hes very touchy, he loves the warmth of your skin and how soft your hair is and how you smell so hed be a lot more intimate further in

sometimes hes like a little crow and hell bring you gifts of shiny trinkets he finds and hell just leave them on your side of the bed for u,,

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

honestly, who knows what kind of meds michael was on while he was locked up. obvs this is not a universal experience but its kinda hard to get it up and get off when youre on a lot of anti psychotics and anti depressions and whatnot. so he probably didnt jerk off a lot! i feel like he might have seen it as something to do to pass time rather than like, wanting to cum if that makes sense!

that would probably carry on a little bit after the hospital - i dont see mikey continuously taking medication so the urge would be there, but he would be so used to not jerking off that he never rlly thought about it

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

like i said earlier, he likes to keep you fullfullfull! hes a rlly big boy, he likes to watch and feel his cock through your belly when he fucks you deep and hell keep you full of cum every time yall have sex!

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

oh yall are gonna be fuckin everywhere <33

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

if u praise michael or offer to wash his hair or back or if you ask if he wants extra portions of dinner or i guess just,, treat him like a human 🥺 hes gonna be putty !! once hes sleeping and you bring him breakfast in bed and youve never seen the man so surprised!! he was too confused to eat for a moment but when you joined him in bed and fed him pancakes, he laughed! rlly raspy unused voice and he laughs and then fucks u then n there and he smiles the whole time 🖤🖤🤌🏻

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i dont think mikey would want to share control or dominance during sex - hes in control and you obviously have say and consent, but hes the one pulling the strings.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

michael would probably be a little uncomfortable about you giving him head, at least in the beginning. you worshipping his body and cock would have really flustered him at first. obvs further on, he would die for the feeling of your warm lips around him and your hair between his legs.

on the other side, watching you come undone under michaels mouth is sooooo fascinating to him lmao hell go down on you for an hour

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

all depends on the mood 🖤

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

tbh u would both live for the feeling of each other whether that be fucking missionary for hours or michael shimmying down your pants to fuck you in the driveway before the neighbors see

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

yes ! mikey wants everyone to know youre his and if that means getting caught fucking somewhere,, 🤷🏻

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

at first michael could cum from dry humping you, grinding himself against you while you made out, poor big boy. the more youre together, the higher his stamina builds!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

michael would like to get you off with his fingers and tongue and cock 🖤 but if you wanted to introduce toys i dont think hed really pretend to care either way but maybe deep down hes kinda jealous,,

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

again, depends on mood and length of relationship. michael would finger fuck you and eat you out until youre crying before he would finally Actually fuck you but sometimes, he doesnt rlly have the patience lmao.

dont u dare tease him tho he will just stare at you and then probably walk away lmao

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

hes quiet. the first sounds you ever heard him made were when he came during sex and even then, it was the lightest of grunts. very hot. as he gets more comfortable around you hes more vocal - obviously hes not going to talk to you, but hell give you appreciative sighs during sex and hum back at you when you tell him you love him and whatnot.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

*THIS IS SFW*

ok i said this earlier and its all i can think about. mikey has a huuuuge creative side!!!! he likes obviously that he can brutally destroy anything he wants with his hands, but he also really enjoys making things!!

at first youd find bits of ripped up news paper and glue bottles and then michael would have a new mask hanging to dry in the shower and after that you would bring home different things for him to try - knitting or painting or gardening!! mikey,, rlly loves to garden oh man 🥺 you get home from an errand once and the back door was open and you had a moment of concern before youd noticed michael on his hands and knees in the backyard, covered in potting soil, without his mask, his hair tucked behind his ears 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he would really enjoy the sun and the smell of dirt after being locked up so long 🖤 idk if hed take to knitting or painting, but he likes molding things with clay and youd noticed a few pieces of rough cut wood around the house in the shapes of random animals 🥺

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

come on.

hes long, hes THICK, hes uncut, and hes got huuuuge, heavy balls. when he gets hard and his head comes through his foreskin, its a good three shades darker than the rest of him. his balls are darker too. hes not very veiny!

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

sometimes youll fuck twice a day and sometimes you wont have sex for a week. lots of factors 🖤

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

you fall asleep before michael every single time without fail no matter how hard you try to stay awake, he WILL outlast you.

(ur always the first one awake though if mikey could he would sleep till noon every day hes not a morning kinda guy 🖤🖤)

#michael myers #rz michael myers #halloween 2007 #slasher #rob zombie michael myers #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader

[angry-geese]

Naoya Zenin x Reader

Warnings: nsfw / mdni. shameless smut. dom reader. pegging, edging, dirty talk, degredation, hickeys, biting/marking, fingering. not the healthiest relationship dynamic. Naoya kinda needs his own warning. afab reader.

a/n: this was inspired by this drabble i did a few days ago

Word Count: about 1.7k

There’s a soft knock at the door. Naoya doesn't wait before barging in.

Your laptop shuts with a soft click. Not that you were getting much work done anyway.

“Oh, sure, come on in,” the irritation in your voice is palpable.

Naoya was a menace. He’s still a menace, and it’s safe to say he always will be, though he gives you a wide berth. People notice the way he shys away from you, how he flinches at your voice. The dark, mouth shaped marks that he can’t quite hide under clothes. He talked about you. Often. How you were a half rate sorcerer. The venomous words he would spit were no secret to you. He was nothing if not a prideful, spiteful little man.

But he always came back.

“What the hell is this?” he tugs down his shirt collar, revealing a dark, mouth shape mark centered just on his collarbone.

“That's what you came to bother me about?” You ask. “It didn't seem to concern you when you were moaning under me like a wanton whore.”

His face is hardly an inch from yours when you stand. A look resembling rage fills his eyes. His breath is warm against your skin.

You grab his wrist, twisting his arm uncomfortably behind his back. He can handle a little manhandling; he’s certainly survived worse. Your hand plants on the back of his head, shoving it into the desk, your hips flush to his. He grunts as his cheek presses against the cold, antique wood. He uses his free arm to try to press himself up, though to no avail. In terms of strength, he typically has a bit of leverage against you.

“You crazy bitch,” he spits, “let me go!”

“If you hate this so much then why are you getting hard?” You press your knee between his legs, purposefully grinding your thigh against his growing erection.

Your chest presses against his back as you lean forward to grab something. Lube. His eyes widen as something hard presses against his back; a hard, rather cold weight. Leave it to you to keep that thing on you at all times. Your free hand presses under the waistband of his pants, shoving them down his hips.

You warm the lube up in your hands for a moment before working it over the surface of the strap. Your free hand moves between his legs. He freezes for a moment, as if he's shocked by the movement of your hands. There’s no hiding the way his face heats up. Unconsciously he widens his stance, allowing you better access. Your index and middle finger press into him. Your grip on his arm loosens. Both his hands press into the desk in a feeble attempt to hold himself up. He grunts when you stroke a particularly sensitive spot.

“It’s cold,” he says.

“Then warm it up for me.”

Once again you grab the lube, letting it flood over your fingers and his tight hole. Your fingers pump into him, his back arching. He gasps and stiffens. You've hit his prostate. Your free hand strokes his cock, a feeble attempt to get him to relax. Though it works, he's a bit stiff. His size is rather impressive, though you suppose it makes up for something. Over the past few weeks you’ve figured out all the little spots to prod and poke that just make him squirm.

“It's a shame such a nice cock is attached to such a horrible person,” you say.

“It’s a shame you’re such a bitch-”

A small, choked gasp leaves him as the tip of the strap presses into him. With the lube and prep, his tight hole takes it easily. Little does everyone know, the perpetual stick up Naoya’s ass is you.

He puts up little resistance as you pull him into your lap. Your fingers work under—yours now—shirt, tugging it over his head. His chest is flushed, and littered with hickeys. You trace your nails along the crescent shaped marks left by your teeth.

“What would everyone think if they knew you liked getting fucked with a strap bigger than your own cock?” Your grip tightens. “Sit. Still.”

He stiffens. To ease some tension, he bounces his leg.

“I should get you a collar,” you say, “maybe a leash too. Something I can drag you around with. I'm thinking red would be a good color.”

Your hand buries in his hair, gently tugging his head back. A noise resembling pain leaves him. The kiss you press to his jaw is uncharacteristically soft, making goosebumps rise along his shoulder. You run your tongue across the shell of his ear, causing him to shudder. Blush dusts the tips of his ears and nose, leaving his cheeks and chest splotchy.

“You would like that,” your lips just barely brush across his neck, “wouldn't you?”

“You bitch.”

“If you have such a problem with it, why aren't you trying harder to leave?” You ask, leaning forward to nip at his ear. “You have your safeword. Use it if this is so terrible.”

You reach past him to open your laptop back up, resuming your work. It's not the most time sensitive project. Really you could pawn this thing off on someone else. But anything to ignore him, make him squirm a bit.

He doesn't like being ignored. He’s not used to it. A man like him has rarely been told no in his life.

"It brings me great joy to see your eyes fill with desperation," a dark laugh follows your comment. His cock twitches.

“Fuck. You.” He hisses.

“Yes, that's what you’re doing,” your teeth find the junction where his neck meets his shoulder, biting hard. The little whimper that leaves him sends a heat straight to your core. It's stifled, and strangled sounding.

The wetness between your thighs is undeniable. Being with Naoya brings out a sadistic little streak in you; one that rarely sees the light of day. You angle your hips to make it impossible for him to sit still very long, shifting your position ever so slightly. If he does notice, he says nothing about it. Sweat beads in his hairline. Occasionally you lean down to suck more dark marks into his shoulder. Most are barely just beginning to fade. What's one more?

“I never said not to make any noise.” You say. “I want to hear you whimper.”

You give his thigh a squeeze. Your hand wraps around his leaking cock, giving it slow pumps. You don't want to neglect him too much. He squirms as he nears his release, rocking back against the strap. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure.

He mutters out a curse when you pull your hand away.

“If you want me to touch you, then beg,” you say.

“I'm not going to-” a short, undignified moan leaves him as you thrust up into him. His hands plant on your thighs to help steady himself.

Every cell of your being is begging you to fuck him over your desk. Your nails drag up the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, kneading at the soft flesh. You run a finger up the underside of his cock, over the sensitive vein that runs up the bottom. Naoya’s throat has a strange dryness to it. He runs his tongue over his glossy bottom lip. His breathing is shallow, stopping entirely when you grip his chin and pull him to face you.

You nibble at his bottom lip until he allows your tongue into his mouth. The kiss you pull him into is needy, and intense, though rather soft. If there’s one thing he admires about you, it's the fire that burns behind your eyes.

You pull away with an audible pop! A string of saliva connects your lips and his. His eyes are glossy, the expression behind them is unreadable. The warmth of your skin spreads to him in a not entirely unpleasant way. He finds himself slowly leaning into you.

“Please,” he says.

It seems he’s given in completely; his face flushed, lips swollen, eyes glossy. He loses all will to hold in his moans. He puts up no fight as you press his head into the desk. His hands grip onto the edge so tight his knuckles turn white.

“There’s my good boy,” you coo, leaning down to lick a stripe up his cheek, “see? That wasn't so hard.”

“Please,” he says, a bit louder this time.

“Please what?”

Though he can’t see your face, he can hear your grin in the way you speak. He can feel every ridge and fake vein of the strap as you fuck into him. A string of moans and pleads and apologies spills past his lips.

“Please fuck me.”

Your left hand reaches to pump his painfully hard cock. Precum weeps from the head, spilling onto your hand. There’s no hiding the way he cries out your name. The lewd noises of your hips slapping his fills the air, just barely drowned out by his moans.

It doesn't take him long to reach orgasm. His words are no longer coherent, forming high pitched whines that send a shock of need straight down your spine. You’ve been torturing him long enough you’re surprised he’s lasted this long.

Hot ropes of his cum pour into your hand. It's thin and runny, not to mention there's lots of it.

There’s no fight left in him as you pull him back into your lap. The warmth of your body is welcome, and oddly comforting to his fucked-out, shaky form. Your strong arms snake around him, pulling him into your chest.

His grip on your wrist is soft as he pulls your left hand to his mouth, his lips wrapping around your index and middle finger. A strand of saliva and cum drips from the corner of his mouth as his tongue swirls around the digits. He takes care to not drip any of it onto your clothes, though his effort is in vain.

“You’re disgusting,” you say.

And though you can't really see it, he gives a slight nod.

#jjk x reader #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin #jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #naoya smut #cw pegging

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (Mike's Version) (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

My eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick me out. I detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, I would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with me.

I laid on my back with my skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded my hands together over my stomach as I got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. I tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. My eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. I liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded me of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. I needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. I hoped I'd have enough room in my car for everything, since I wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit me out of nowhere; since I no longer had a school to attend, I'd never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one I'd participated in was Thanksgiving, and I'd wanted to have one last memory of my parents being proud of me before I became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way Dad had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at me from across the dinner table, that I'd already failed. I chose to keep my mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that my college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

I wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. I hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. I would get the fuck over myself and leave the house. I would repair my purposefully neglected friendships. And I'd finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear me out. Maybe Will’s hatred for me had faded a little bit. I still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what I'd already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as I had arrived back at my dorm in January, I diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above my headboard. I wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because I was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but I truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting my school supplies (along with my reluctance to just go back home and grab what I needed from my room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all I had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on my wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; we weren’t official, anyway, so I was free to see whoever I wanted. Except I didn’t just want to see Will. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. If only I could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call; I wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. I longed for the day I'd get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But I was waiting for the right time to do it. I couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. I couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and I didn’t want to impose upon that. And I couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? I didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at me.

In reality, no time was a good time. I knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. I, ever the strategist, prepared myself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help me immensely in this process. Ultimately, I chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion I could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

I had parked myself in the middle of my mattress, sitting criss cross on top of my navy blue comforter. I'd pulled my phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of my bedside table and into my lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and my back was slightly killing me (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But I knew I wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

I drew my eyes up the headboard of my bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. I inhaled so hard I thought my lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in my chest. I feared my heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. I knew I had to do this now, or I never would. I'd already procrastinated doing this for too long. I gulped, my finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried my luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing my body to snap up to attention. I rose to defend myself from any monsters in my vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, I stood up way too fast. I was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. I sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, I let my shoulders go lax. Tension that I hadn’t realized had built up released from my neck as I rested my head on my palms. I wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster I'd have to fight was myself. 

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in my obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on me, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. I shut my eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. I could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or I could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone I knew.

I opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. I rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. I hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since Will and I got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. We’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, I freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, I wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, I needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around my throat. My eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through my veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around my wrist before I could take another step. I whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that I vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from my Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for my impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

I tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when I'd admitted to not knowing it, so I uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with my greeting. She pulled me down by my shoulder so she could talk in my ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. I raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. I hoped I wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, I knew I probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made me feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” I hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. I laughed along, but my voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

I looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. I watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in my stomach. The lava curling around my throat became even hotter, burning through my skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” I remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. I glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” I blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. I heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered me on, but I wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at me, stunned at my sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. I felt myself choking on air. I needed to get out of there, and quickly. 

“Okaygottagoseeya!” I forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before I bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of my Chuck Taylors as I continued to run across the campus quad, my breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout my body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. My feet loudly slapped the pavement below me, and I was proud that I hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of my time at the University of Indianapolis, it was my improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, I thought.

I sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If I got hit, cool. Awesome. I'd thank the driver as I bled out in the street. But no one came to take me out of my misery. So I kept running, and running, and running. My long legs screamed as my practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry me. The prickly, thin air I breathed in through my mouth reminded me of the sensation when I'd chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but I was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down my face. Or were those tears? Was I seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, I had never been the type of person to openly cry. I wasn’t raised to share my feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why I had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. I never opened up to anyone, because I hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. I prided myself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, I'd been the one to stare Vecna down as I thrust a sword straight into his heart. I'd proven my strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that I didn’t have to let my guard down; Will broke it for me. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that I had worked so hard for years to maintain. I suddenly became unable to stop myself from crying. I'd always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that I could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, I didn’t envy Will at all. I wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And I felt even worse when I recalled all the times when I was the reason for making Will cry.

I had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. I had my first one on the day Will left. My mom came into my room to check on me. I’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and my shoulders violently shook as I hyperventilated. My mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting me where I was at, grounding me, and helping me come back to earth. She’d held me in her arms as I sobbed, comforted me, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. I could never express enough gratitude towards my mom for what she did for me that day. Little did I know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to my initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after I'd been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

I found my car despite my impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly I opened it, and slammed it shut behind me. I collapsed my entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that I hadn’t even been aware I was capable of. I reached my hands up into my scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with my hands as my surroundings melted away. I genuinely felt like I was going to die. Everything I'd said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside me, and this was me finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

I turned my keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. I lifted my head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed my eyes a few times, and took a look at my reflection. The person staring back at me looked absolutely horrendous. I looked as if I hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; I could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep I'd had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by my side.

I shifted gears and turned my headlights on, pulling out of my spot and drifting out into the street. I knew what I was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just myself, but to others. But I couldn’t give less of a shit; I'd figured out what I needed to do. I slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where I'd have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but I didn’t turn left. I tapped my fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on my right hand signal.

I swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. I felt my breath hitch. His voice was deeper than I remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” I exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for my own good. I waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. I went to speak again, but Will beat me to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said my name in a tone that I could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, I shouldn’t have called him. I shouldn’t have called him, but I did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said my name for the first time in a year.

I reclined onto my comforter so I was lying on my back with my knees bent, wrapping the cord around my finger a few times as I spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

I heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so I told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. I’d always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound I'd ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

I begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and I would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved my life. She’d given me a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of my face. My stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and I suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but I didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing me away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” I heard myself ask, my voice small. I felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, I was still a kid. I’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of my childhood. I’d been so uncertain of where I’d end up after the war was over. And the one time I was sure of myself, sure of my feelings, and sure that Will Byers was my heart, I– 

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made my blood run cold. I set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on my twin-sized mattress, the rest of my body completely frozen. I felt my facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed me.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. I rarely prayed; I only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, I prayed the hardest I’d ever prayed in my entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, I opened my eyes. Nothing. I huffed a quiet laugh to myself; it was so typical of me to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with my problems. I'd have to face this alone. I was always alone. And I fucking hated it.

I hated that I would never have Will in the way I wanted him, no, the way I needed him. I hated that I could never seem to get the closure that I believed I deserved. I hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with me! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had I done something else? Did I do something other than that one time in August? Something during my first semester, or over Christmas break, that I couldn’t remember due to my steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? I couldn’t think of a single thing, which made me even angrier. 

I wished I could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe I could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if I picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if I said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. I'd be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of myself that I could never get back; a boy who would call me out for lying to both Will and myself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt me badly enough to justify a grudge. At least I thought so. Then again, I hated grudges, and the person I became when I held them. Scratch that, I hated the person I'd become, period. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I'd started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, I'd finally discovered my identity as a young gay man. I met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. I would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to me, and would get weirdly emotional when my mind would, as always, drift to Will. I’d sometimes close my eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and I'd fall for my own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and I'd remember that Will hated my guts… I would drink. A lot. I was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. My temper got worse, my fuse got shorter, and my overall outlook on life became so cynical that I sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But I'd never followed through with anything in my entire life, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill myself even if I wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of my eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of my cheeks. I hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing me to develop a cramp under my ribcage. I grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering my feet to the linoleum floor. I shuffled to my wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before I found what I was looking for. It was over. This was it. I'd had my chance, and I lost Will for the third time in my life. I picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to my lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when I'd startled awake to a shrill ringing in my ears. I checked my alarm clock to see the time, and I rolled my eyes. I extended my arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of my body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

I sat up then, my eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” I agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto my pillows and staring at the ceiling. I'd missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and my reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked me, and I scoffed, lifting my free hand to run it through my hair, regretting it immediately when my fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since I hadn’t washed my hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told me, and I clenched my jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So I told her. I started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. I told her about how Will and I hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. I told her about how I had, in fact, written letters to Will; I'd just never sent them. I told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when we’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. I told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and I feared that our call might have been disconnected and I'd been talking to no one. But then, I heard the faint sound of El breathing, so I continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut me off, and I sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time we’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. I truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about me after everything. I'd been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut me out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” I whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” I pressed, and I heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” I repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should I have waited until we were out of school for the summer? Should I have waited until we were both out of college? Should I have waited until Will had forgotten about me?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to me, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. I reached over to my bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched my esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” I spluttered, wiping my mouth roughly with my sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, I wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of my problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. As far as I was concerned, I'd never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and I was alone with my thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of my mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in my mind as I finished off my bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke me back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle me awake each time I nodded off behind the wheel.

I concluded that I couldn’t blink anymore. Though my eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting my corneas, blinking would cause my heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of my life, I'd trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then my eyelids would droop closed.

I pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with me. Hopefully I would get my third wind sooner than later (my second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep me awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met my ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” I indignantly announced to the universe, gripping my fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, I was very awake. My mind became a film reel, playing back memories I thought I'd blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go? 

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. I sat on my father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, I often felt like the odd one out. My parents shamelessly and openly favored my sisters over me, which further excluded me, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out I was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, I got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. I had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to me, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of me refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. We could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. My subconscious must have known I'd needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because I found Will’s list. To me, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so I decided to memorize it. I'd do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking my brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded my attention, and I swiveled my upper body around to see Will leaning over my shoulder, his hands planted on either side of me on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in my blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? I gulped loudly, becoming flustered at our very close proximity. God, I needed to get ahold of myself. Pining over my best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and my eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for me? I realized then that I hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering me speechless, but I needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” I asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of my space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. I took this moment to shift in my spot to face Will, placing my hand atop my friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in my direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming. 

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” I had a sentimental streak, what could I say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at my confession. 

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” I asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” I quipped, my voice infected by my ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did I just… What did I just say? I said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… My mind meandered into treacherous territory as I wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! I was just about ready to pass away right then and there. I could just imagine my headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. I nearly fell off the chair. Could my egregious mistake have given me a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

I played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of ours, sandwiching my hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, I thought, fuck up more often.

I smiled so big that my mouth nearly fell off my face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and I was lying on the basement couch with my legs hanging off the edge. My eyes were closed, and I wore my headphones which were attached to my Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as I had from the second it fell into my hands back in 1986. I felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. I cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when I registered that it was Will who was entering my space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees 

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” I sat up, pulling my headphones fully off my head and resting them around my neck. Then I saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. My eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” I cried out, cranking the window down with my free hand and letting the wind rush through my long, black hair. My sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as my hair violently whipped into my eyes. I lifted my left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling my fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” I yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into my mouth. I tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but I continued on with my tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and I obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into my retinas. I pushed my hair out of my face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did I perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; my car radio had been blocking it out. I also noticed that I was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if I didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, I swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. I took a moment to process the fact that I could have died. I knew my hands held the steering wheel, and my foot was still on the gas, but the rest of me was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but I could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. I could have died, but I didn’t. But I felt my heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

I knew that I couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read my mind, a small lookout area appeared within my vicinity, and I took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. I parked my car, turned the music down, and clasped my hands in my lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down my spine. I hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of the vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. I pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind me and shoved it over my shoulders, zipping it up. I did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling my eyes and laughing bitterly to myself at the sheer irony. I continued to laugh as I opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

I stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below me were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees I could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, I stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If I were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of my mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course my thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could I ever forget? Even as a child, I'd been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and I glanced down. This time, I wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save me. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for me. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” I screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. I lifted my hands up to my face, covering my bloodshot eyes. I heaved out a low growl, raising my voice until it hit the top of my range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

I let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; I'd cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. My throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. I took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at my feet, watching them fall. I decided I didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way I could die was if I did all I possibly could to get Will back. I turned my back on the trees, briskly walking back to my car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, I walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. My hangover headache was beginning to form, and my intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so I figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. I stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to my right. I recalled myself making a mental note back at the frat party to check my horoscope, so I leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when I found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, I thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. I filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he'd been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and I could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When I got closer, I noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at me, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. I tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” I sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money I slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. I shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand me my change so I could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and I stopped my fidgeting. I looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” I softly smiled as I took my change from the counter, and shoved it into my pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after me, and I laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind me.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something I had expected to be on my Sunday agenda, but here I was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. I got out of my car, slamming the door, and smoothing my jeans over my thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in my back seat after my most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if I were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission I was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for me to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. I figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so I could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. I walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. I could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared me for the next piece that caught my eye.

It was me. Fuck, it was me; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. I held my breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. I knew I didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when I read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. My chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in my head that routinely reminded me of what I'd lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left me without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased me out of his life, still refer to me as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? I hadn’t realized I'd zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to me, I nearly leapt out of my skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of my eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” I hummed, unmoving. 

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told me, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” I began, then cut myself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on my vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” I asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” I smiled at her as she handed me two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” I didn’t recall ever telling her my name, or mentioning Will in our short conversation, but I became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something I didn’t. Will had evidently told her about me. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so I felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” I rushed out, backing out the door as politely as I possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as I was out of the Admissions office building, I ran down the street. I was so close to finding Will. Now, all I had to do was find the dorms.

I looked down at the map in my hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if I was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all I could see was a brick wall in front of me. I was just about to rip all my hair out before I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see two girls looking up at me, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. My gaze traveled down to notice our intertwined hands and I blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least I was amongst friends. I gripped onto the map in my hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave me be so I could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” I shook my head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” I waved my hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted my heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

I let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” My brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” I felt like I was being charged with a crime, but I nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and I couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise me? I was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to me. I read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

I gulped loudly, peeling my eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. I nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of my mouth when I attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from me. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” I heard her call back to me. I wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

I eventually found my car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than I'd have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. I pulled the map of Chicago out of my pocket and dug in my middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. I could do this.

As I drove, I thought about what to say. How could I even begin to explain why I was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could I justify my batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? I groaned. I didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so I figured I'd at least try to plan out my… speech. But I had never really been much of a planner in respect to my social life. Give me a few monsters, and I'd be golden. But my crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. I'd just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that I stood in, lifting my knuckles to the door.

I knocked.

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[dameronology]

the one where you're more than friends {obi-wan kenobi}

summary: you love obi-wan. obi-wan loves you. perhaps it's time one of you did something about it. (for @agent-catfish-kenobi -- i hope you enjoy!!)

warnings: language

i miss when i titled my imagines like friends episodes so i guess i'm going back to that?

- jazz

Obi-Wan had been acting off recently. You couldn't quite put your finger on it - and nobody else had seemed to notice - but he was just...odd.

It wasn't unsurprising that you were the first one to see it. He was your best friend, after all, and you knew him better than he knew himself. To most people, he was merely a mysterious warrior with a kind heart and a lot of wit - and that was completely and entirely true, but there was so much more to him than that. For example, if his fear of loth cats ever got out, or the fact he slept with a night light and couldn't pronounce the word Kashyyk properly? He probably wouldn't have kept that mystery up for very long.

In return, Obi-Wan had an embarrassing amount of dirt on you -- and even though you always joked that your shared secrets were the only reason you were so closed, you both knew that that wasn't the whole and entire truth. You loved him and he loved you. Whether it was as friends, or something more, was what you were yet to determine.

(And also something you never planned on finding out).

"Have you noticed that Obi-Wan has been acting a bit weird lately?" you pondered the question to Anakin one day over breakfast.

The Padawan looked up at you, confusion set in his eyes. Was he really the best person to ask? At fifteen years old, he was simply preoccupied with being the top of his class and pretending not to steal glances at the Jedi girls his age. You couldn't blame him - after all, at his age you'd spent most your time staring at Obi-Wan.

"Weird how?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," you murmured. "He's just been...I dunno, avoiding me?"

Anakin thinned his eyes. "Hmm, maybe."

"Has he said anything?" you pushed.

"Not to me," Anakin replied. "But nobody tells me anything anymore or really pays attention to-"

"- I see him!" you suddenly stood up, tossing aside your pancakes.

"...me anymore."

Obi-Wan was stood halfway across the mess hall, cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other. How very on brand of him.

What were you even supposed to say? It wasn't a subject you could just easily approach and moreover, you couldn't even work out if it was all in your head. There had been times before where he'd just got busy, as people do and tended to be a little more absent. Part of you was worried that this was just one of those times, and that bringing it up would make things awkward. What would he think if you accused him of not spending enough time with you? You couldn't do anything that would make him ponder how attached you were - that was something you could barely admit to yourself, let alone to him.

Obi-Wan was crafty as fuck with the Force, so there was no seeking any answers out in that - at least not without him knowing. And knowing was the last thing you wanted right about then.

"Obi!" you called.

The Jedi jumped, almost dropping his drink to the floor as he blinked in surprise. "You're here later than usual."

(Had he purposefully come to the canteen at a time when he knew you wouldn't have normally been there?)

"Yeah, my morning meeting got pushed back so I hung around a little longer," you thinned your eyes at him. "Where have you been lately?"

"Here....reading," his blue eyes fell to the ground for a moment. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I haven't seen you for a week," you reminded him.

"You're seeing me now," he shot back, before glancing at his watch. "Oh, look at the time! Sorry, I must dash."

"Kenobi!" you called him after him. "You're such a..eugh!"

--

Nothing changed over the next few days.

You barely saw Obi-Wan - but you knew he wasn't busy, because his calendar was linked up to yours on your datapad. He'd made you do it years ago so that you could maximise the amount of time you spent together. It was just one of the many tiny things he'd done to make sure that he always that he put your friendship first. Being a Jedi was important to him, but you were the beating heart behind everything he did - not that he was fucking acting like it right now, but what could you do?

That was the question you found yourself asking every day in the week that followed. The feeling of powerlessness felt like it was eating you up inside - he was your best friend and he'd completely shut you out. You spent hours and hours going over your most recent interactions, trying to work out if you'd done something or said something. Surely not? Because nothing over the last few weeks had been any different to any other conversation or interaction that you'd had before.

So the problem must have been him, right? If it was nothing you did, it must have something going on in his head - and that sucked for you, because Obi-Wan Kenobi's mind was a tangled web of everything. It was so deep and complicated that you often wondered how he deciphered his thoughts into words at all.

Speaking of complicated things, you'd spent the better part of twenty minutes pacing outside the front of his bedroom door. Normally, you would have just knocked and strolled in, but nothing really was normal right now. You'd convinced yourself that the person you were in love with your best friend hated you, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world. Almost as bad as the time you almost impaled yourself trying to do a back flip whilst holding your lightsaber.

(You'd mastered it now - and had the scars to show for it too).

You were almost in the headspace to knock on his door when it opened. Obi-Wan froze in his tracks, icy eyes landing on you. They went wide, like a rabbit in headlights, as though it were taking him a minute to process that you were there. Then, once his brain had kicked back into action, he slammed the door right in your face.

"Kenobi!" you snapped. You banged a fist against the door and took a step back. "What the hell is going on?"

"I..." Obi-Wan trailed off from the other side. "I realised I forgot to put my shoes on."

"You're a terrible liar," you huffed. "Please, can you just open the door?"

"What do you want to talk about?" he innocently asked.

"Don't act dumb," you said. "Now seriously, if you don't open this door, I will slice it open with my lightsaber."

He opened the door a second later.

Without saying anything, Obi-Wan turned around and walked back into his room. It was neat as usual - books in alphabetical order, boots perfectly polished, spare cloaks folded. You took it as a sign to follow him inside.

"Thank you," you murmured. "I just wanna know what's going on, Obi."

"Nothing is going on-"

"- cut the crap," you cut cut him off. "You've made a point over the last ten years to never go more than a day without speaking to me and now you're just...you're icing me out and I can't work out why."

Obi-Wan's eyes avoided yours as he sat on his bed, nervously playing with the sleeves of his robes. What was he supposed to say that? He'd been a fool for thinking you wouldn't notice. A whole-ass, A-grade idiot. The king of all morons.

He'd been having a hard few weeks himself. Swallowing his feelings for you had been difficult at the best of times, but something - and he didn't know what - had happened recently to make them absolutely insufferable. Where he'd once been able to pass off his love for you as platonic interactions, it now felt impossible. He felt the innate urge to blurt it out every time he saw you. So, he figured if he just stopped seeing you, then...

Yeah, Obi-Wan was really questioning his ability to make coherent plans now.

"I..." he trailed off. "I can't lie anymore. I suppose it's sort of become the tauntaun in the room."

"So don't," you said. "You never have to lie to me. We have no secrets, remember?"

"Of course," he murmured. "I'll tell you what it is but you have to promise not to let it freak you out, okay? And if it does, can we just forget about it and-"

"- I promise," you firmly nodded. "Whatever it is, I won't judge you. Nothing you could say or do would ever change the fact you're my best friend).

He was about to test that.

Obi-Wan pulled his hands out of his sleeves, reaching across to where you were stood in front of him. He intertwined your fingers and pulled you down to sit beside him.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you smiled. "You know that."

"No, I mean...I love you," he repeated. "I'm in love with you."

You swore you could have felt your heart stop in your chest. That was everything you'd wanted to hear for as long as you could remember and it didn't even feel real. If it hadn't have been for the soft feeling of his calloused palms against yours keeping you grounded, you would have let yourself think that this was all a dream.

How long had you spent turning yourself inside out, trying to convince your brain that Obi-Wan would never feel the same as you did?

Clearly, he'd been better at hiding it - until recently, at least.

"You're in love with me?" you stuttered.

"I know, it's stupid. I should never have said anything-"

"- I love you too," you cut him off.

"You do?"

"Of course I do, you fool!" you pulled one of your hands away, whacking his shoulder. "I always have. I just never thought you felt the same."

"Why wouldn't I?" he spluttered, placing his hands on your shoulders. "You're smart and funny, and you're braver than anyone I know-"

Your eyes met and the Jedi paused mid-speech. As though he were moving in slow motion, he moved one of his hands from your shoulders and brushed it over your cheek. From your cheek, he ran it back down your shoulders, and then to the back of your neck, and then-

- that's when time stopped, because Obi-Wan Kenobi was a fucking good kisser. He pulled you towards him, dipping his head to catch your lips. His were soft and chapped at the same time; guided and exploring, completely taking over your senses in something that was so quintessentially him. His grip on you - physically and mentally - only got stronger as the kiss deepened, and you hated when you had to break away to breath.

"Wow," you murmured.

"That's one for word it," his voice was slightly shaky.

Obi-Wan pressed his forehead to yours, hand ghosting up and down your back.

"So does that that mean that you'd want to..." you trailed off. "Give this a shot? Give us a shot?"

"If you'll let me," he replied. "I would love that more anything."

"Of course," you grinned, gently running a hand through his hair. "You know it'll be complicated though, right? With the Council and the Code and-"

"_ you've always come before of that," he reminded you. "Now more than ever."

It was true. None of this - the trials and the dedication to the Order and the missions - would have mattered if hadn't been for you. All the times he'd felt himself losing, or slipping away, you were always there to guide him back onto the right path. Being a Jedi was his true calling but you? You were his purpose. The sun and the moon and the stars that made all his other achievements possible.

"We'll cross those bridges when we reach them," Obi-Wan vowed. "Together."

"Together," you gave him a nod in agreement. "That's all that matters."

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi reader insert #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi headcanons #obi wan fanfic #obi-wan reader insert #obi-wan headcanons #obi-wan fluff #obi-wan kenobi fluff #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert #star wars imagines #star wars preferences

[bestintheparsec]

Falling

Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Summary: Frankie’s stuck in his head about you. This definitely works as a standalone but I wrote it as a sequel to A Little Bit of Sugar

A/N: So I tried something different when I wrote this one - it’s unlike anything else I’ve written, but I hope you like it and I hope this brings some warmth to start off your new year!

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: a disgusting amount of softness (I apologize), angst but not really?, one minor mention of blood/injury

~

Frankie matches his stride to yours as you walk down the gravel path back to your place. He tries to pay attention to something, anything, other than the nervous flickering of warmth in his chest—how you pull your coat tighter around yourself when a breeze hits, the sound of your boots clacking on the ground with each step, the colorful holiday lights nearby that cast a subtle glow on your hair.

It doesn't help.

He knows the directions well enough now—you’ve only been on a few dates but he’s walked you home every time. You look up at him and say something that makes him laugh, and he tries to let that feeling of ease course through him, willing it to last longer.

It doesn't.

He’s afraid he’ll blow it—the fact that he’s been on more than one date with you is already more than he expected. Hell, the fact that you'd even wanted to see him again beyond the coffee shop you'd met at was more than he expected.

Each time after your evenings together, the only thing he’s given and taken has been a quiet embrace, a question if you’d like to meet up again next week. And each time, you’ve said yes. But it hasn’t been anything other than that. Just an exchange of shy smiles, fleeting gazes, and maybe an awkward laugh as you wave and he walks off.

Frankie huffs quietly—chuckles at the irony of being beside himself with happiness while simultaneously being unable to act like a normal human being around you. He hasn’t felt this comfortable around anyone new in a long time. Even though it’s only been a few evenings he’s spent with you, he knows himself and the difference in the way he’s been falling asleep a little faster every night, the way he feels the rest of the world and its problems melt away on these few evenings, just for a while.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t want to fuck this up. What if you don’t feel the same way—if you’re only hanging out with him as a friend? He shakes his head—that can’t be right. Because that brightness in your eyes when you look at him, how you smile and glance down at the ground when he tells you he enjoyed the night—he knows he mirrors it all. So he can’t be crazy. That’s what he keeps telling himself, anyways.

You break him out of the brief reverie, mentioning a place you think he’d like to go next time. Next time. He breaks out a grin—he really would like it. His hand sways as he walks, lightly brushing against the hem of the back of your jacket. He wants to take your hand, feel its warmth in his, bring it to his lips for the lightest of kisses. But he can't do it. Too soon, he tells himself.

After you’ve both passed the same familiar sights along the path, you finally make it to your house. You turn to face him, and Frankie feels that nervousness creep up on him again. You have that smile that makes him melt lingering on your lips, your hands shoved into your pockets as you look at him, an awkward silence falling between you as you shift your weight from one foot to another. Fuck, what is wrong with him?

He tells you again that he had a wonderful time, a genuine softness in his eyes and heat in his cheeks. He feels his heart about to pound out of his chest. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, telling him the same and how you look forward to seeing him again. Those damn butterflies again. They seem to give him a nudge, almost as impatient as he is. Something about the glowing street lights and joyful ambiance nudges him a little harder—practically whacks him upside the head to just do it.

And then…

He murmurs a curt good night, turning to head back the way he came, not looking at whatever expression falls over your face as he does.

Frankie makes it exactly three steps before pausing where he is. He bites the inside of his cheek, briefly closing his eyes before turning back around—you’ve already started turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Frankie says abruptly, his voice more gruff than he expects as he calls your name. You turn and meet his eyes again, looking at him questioningly as he walks quickly up to you, stopping when he's inches away, before he can change his mind.

His hand trembles as he moves it to gently cradle your face, your surprised but soft, half-lidded gaze threatening to knock the air out of him.

“Can I...kiss you?” he murmurs, and before he can even think about what he’s just asked, your lips are on his, his hands on your waist pulling you in closer as he kisses you; delicate, light kisses of his warm lips to yours, a contrast from the biting winter air that surrounds you both.

~

Frankie’s bringing in some firewood from the yard when he sees you pulling up in front of his house. He’s spent the last thirty minutes chopping up some extra wood to make his house more cozy for your date tonight. Really it's just takeout and a movie, but something feels...different about it. You’ve gone to various places for your dates, but never his actual home, not for long. It’s been a rainy, cold week, so Frankie suggested staying in tonight, which you more than happily agreed to.

The rain has lightened up a little bit, slightly dampening your clothes as you get out of the car and grab your things. Frankie feels his pulse start to quicken, ignoring the mist of cool rain on his skin. God, even in this weather, you’re breathtaking.

Truthfully, he’d been thrilled at the idea of having you spend a date night in his home. But he didn’t anticipate the way he was more nervous this morning than he ever had been with you before, and he didn't have a clue as to why. He’s spent the day trying to make sure everything was perfect—cleaning up, making sure he had the food planned, spending a little longer picking out his clothes earlier, everything. Is this plaid button-up too much? Too little? It’s been driving him crazy, and he doesn’t understand it. His home is his safe place—a happy place, if he has such a thing. He wants it to be that way for you, too.

For a split second he imagines you with him at home; not just tonight, but always. Coming home to each other. Staying warm under the covers at night, fresh cups of coffee in the morning. Just as quickly, the thought disappears. It isn’t right. You’re good; too good to him, for him. How can he ever live up to what you deserve?

The slam of your car door brings him back to reality.

Messing with the firewood tonight probably wasn’t the best idea. Your smile fades when you get closer to him, a concerned frown on your face as you ask what happened to him.

He’d had a little accident when cutting up the wood earlier, giving himself a gash on his cheek, which started to bleed. A lot. It probably looks worse than it actually is. Because tonight is the perfect night for you to not be able to do anything right, Francisco. He was going to clean it up after he got done before you got here, but it’d taken him longer than he’d expected to get everything finished.

He brushes it off, telling you it’s no big deal, just a scratch. Not worth a fuss. Which you don’t buy, at all. Of course. By now you’ve both been standing in the drizzling rain for long enough that your hair has been matted down on your head and your clothes are starting to get soaked through.

He quickly gestures for you to come inside, the warmth of his home immediately comforting against the frigid chill of the rain.

“Frankie, please let me help with that,” you tell him as soon as he shuts the door behind you.

“It’s fine, it’s nothing—” he starts, but you cut him off, telling him you don’t mind and that dinner can wait. Way to start off the evening right, he swears silently at himself as he goes to grab the kit. He pulls a towel off the shelf, too, then heads back out to you in the living room. Wrapping the towel around you first, he takes a seat beside you in front of the fireplace and hands you the kit.

You start picking through it for what you need, but he stops you for a moment. Taking the towel off your shoulders, he carefully wipes away at the beads of rain on your skin while you watch silently. He clenches his jaw, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Once he’s finished, you murmur a soft thank you and he nods once, letting you get back to what you were doing.

With a gentle hand, you start to clean up the cut. Your fingers trace along his skin as though he’s made of glass; maybe he is right now. But Frankie doesn’t even flinch—he can barely focus on anything except you. Those kind eyes, your pursed lips as you concentrate on the task at hand...There’s definitely something wrong with him, and it’s not the wound on his face.

Before he knows it, you’re done, tucking everything back into the kit. “There…” you whisper softly, trailing off as your eyes examine your work, your fingers still lingering on his cheek.

Clean hands on broken skin.

“Th—There,” Frankie repeats, barely audible. He sees that twinkle in your eyes again, like maybe you’re distracted by other things, too. He feels his chest constrict.

This isn’t the first time he’s felt like he’s been giving you the short end of the stick. He bites the inside of his cheek, glancing down at the floor. He’s done things; bad things. It’s not fair to keep this...relatively new relationship going, when in the end he has nothing else to give except himself.

But as much as he feels like he's stringing you along for nothing...everything just falls into place when he’s around you. And the way you make him feel, it's like he has everything worth holding onto. That has to mean something, right?

He clears his throat, his mind coming back to you. You watch him with patient eyes, slowly removing your hand from his face. He immediately misses your touch.

“I—” he blurts out, taking your hand in his, gripping it for a second before letting go. But you take it again, the lightest of smiles on your lips, and Frankie feels warmth rush into his face again.

Before he can ramble any further, he leans into you, taking your face in his hands and presses his lips to yours. It surprises you at first, but you move closer to him, too. The kisses start out slow, tender, but then deepen as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You reciprocate, running your fingers through his dampened hair as his lips move urgently, desperately against yours, like this can’t last forever. He doesn’t want to think about that. For now, he wants to get lost in you.

When you finally break away from each other, it’s too soon; it’s always too soon. Frankie’s breathless, resting his forehead on yours, his hand tracing along your cheek, down to your jaw and then resting along your neck.

He lets a few seconds pass, trying to gather himself before speaking up again. “I...was going to say...I hope you like what I picked up for dinner,” he whispers, shyness suddenly coming over him.

You chuckle at his attempted change of subject, crinkles under your eyes that make his heart soften even more. When you move your hand onto his chest, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat pounding.

“It’s—I’m sure it’s perfect, Frankie. Whatever you chose.” You smile at him, and it’s then that Frankie wonders just how long he’s been a goner.

~

Frankie makes his way up the path to your house, the same one he's taken countless times now.

You’d told him to let himself in once he got to your place, so he opens the door after a few knocks and calls out your name. You don’t answer but the lights are on, and he catches the subtle smell of something burning, followed by some shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. Dinner is at your house tonight, as you’ve both grown fond of staying in rather than being out and having to deal with the bustling crowds.

He takes off his hat and calls your name again, a bit of concern in his voice this time as he smooths down his hair. You finally respond with a rushed muttering of acknowledgment and he follows your voice to the kitchen. When he gets there, he finds you hunched over, muttering some profanities as you pull a tray out of the oven.

You set it down and tuck the stray strands of hair behind your ear before turning to look at him. Frankie smiles, that same giddy grin he can’t seem to hold back whenever he sees you—but it drops a little when he takes in the expression on your face now. You look disheveled and exhausted, although you give him a half-hearted smile.

You and Frankie have been with each other on some of those longer days—the days where everything feels out of place. For many of those days you didn’t even know it was that kind of day for him. But it’s on those days that he’s found comfort, safety in you. Little things, big things; none of it matters when he’s with you.

“Are you okay? What happened?” he asks, moving closer to wrap his arms around you and place a soft kiss onto your head. When you pull away, you motion at the tray you’d just taken out.

You tell him you’d been baking pastries when you got home—his favorite kind—a surprise for when he got here. But it was a long day at work, and you were drained, so you’d decided to take a nap while everything was in the oven...and then proceeded to sleep through the timer.

“Everything’s ruined,” you tell him dejectedly, followed by a soft apology.

Frankie’s been so focused on the fact that you went out of your way to do something for him that he barely catches on to how upset you are.

“Hey—wait, no. Nothing’s ruined,” he reassures you, his voice instantly sweeter than sugar as he places his hands on your shoulders, then moves to cup your cheek.

Frankie thinks of the times you’d been together and things hadn’t gone according to plan—he’s not known for being the smoothest man alive, after all. Times where it was one mishap or another—but then he'd see that playful glint in your eyes, and you would make him laugh about it until his insides ached, and it would make him feel like nothing had gone awry at all.

“It’s just that...I wanted to do something special for you. It’s not much and it’s stupid, but—” you peer at him with those eyes that make him weak in the knees, and Frankie notices that same grounding warmth appearing in his chest again.

It's not the first time he's felt unbelievably lucky.

“Hey, it’s not stupid, silly,” he repeats, chuckling when you gesture dramatically at the burnt pastries on the table. “You didn’t need to do anything for me...you really made my favorites?” A gentle smile plays on his lips.

You laugh softly and nod, getting a grin from him in return.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your cheek, nonchalantly stating that you can make another batch and that he can help—you smile back, even though you both know he’s not much of a baker.

His eyes trace delicately over your features for the first time since he got here. He sees the patches of flour in your hair, on your clothes, and his eyes soften. He can’t believe you’re his —that he’s yours.

He thinks of how your nose crinkles when you smile after teasing him; how he’ll send you a text during the day when something makes him think of you, only to realize you’d never left his thoughts at all. The way the guys have been well-meaningly teasing him for acting differently lately. The way he hasn’t felt right lately—but not in a bad way—just different; like he was numb for a long time and now the novocaine has worn off.

And he realizes he’s fallen completely in love with you.

~

It was a rough night for Frankie. He’s been there before—nights where his mind is louder than the sharpest rings of thunder and he can’t get it to shut up, where all else around him seems hopeless, lost.

Dawn is just barely starting to peek through between the cracks in the curtains when Frankie opens his eyes, unsure of how long he was out for but knowing it couldn’t have been long. He closes them again, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he tries to avoid coming back to his senses.

But he does come back; back to the cool air on his exposed neck above the blanket, to the weight of himself sinking into the plush mattress. And he finds himself next to something warm—you. His eyes flutter open again, taking in the form of your silhouette in the dark as you lay next to him, fast asleep.

He’d called you. He didn’t want to—it was late, later than it usually hits him. But you picked up, and you seemed to know before he said a single word. He didn’t even tell you what was wrong at first, just muttered profuse apologies laced through broken whispers. He really didn’t hear much of what you said after that—but just hearing your voice was enough. It’s always enough, more than he ought to have. I’ll be there soon, you told him. You hung up before he could argue otherwise.

That’s how you ended up here, in his arms, though it started off with him in yours.

He can’t see much of you, but Frankie marvels at the way your quiet breaths steady his own heartbeat, how the fabric of your shirt falls delicately over the curve of your waist where his hand rests now.

He wraps his whole arm over you, gently pulling you flush against him as you unconsciously tuck yourself into the space below his neck. His mind is still heavy, but simultaneously he feels safe. Home.

He holds you like this for a while longer, savors the warmth of you against him, the silent peace that washes over him. He doesn’t know if he’ll fall asleep again but he tries, counting his exhales as his fingers trace along your back.

It’s not long before you stir a bit in his arms, rubbing your eyes as you recall where you are. You put a hand on his chest, then move it to hold his face as you whisper some sleepy words of love and reassurance. They’re words he’s said to you time and time again, as if they’re in limited supply. And you tell him just as often, but he’s always found it hard to let himself believe it.

You always seem to know exactly what he needs before he realizes it himself—even if it’s the darker hours of the night—and  you’re always ready to drop everything just for him...it’s everything he would do for you, although he’d do so much more if he possibly could.

Frankie knows now. It’s here in the dark, with you in the fragile space in his arms and the hollows of his heart that he knows—you love him just as much as he loves you.

Your groggy voice fills the silence. “I’ve always wondered ‘why not me’,” you murmur, still half-asleep.

He caresses your face with the back of his hand, a gentle smile as he asks what you’re talking about.

“Everyone around me...It seemed like everyone was finding their person. But never me,” you repeat, yawning as you blink your eyes open.

“But I know now...” you trail off, moving to rest your head on his chest. “I never found anyone else because I was supposed to meet you.”

You say it so casually, so calmly but it doesn’t hit Frankie with any less force. You’re too drowsy to think anything of it, but these words will carry him for a long time. Wherever he is, he’s never more at home than when he’s with you.

You don’t add anything else, simply draping your arm over him and moving in closer as you curl up and try to find sleep again. He’s unable to find the right words to respond, simply leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

Frankie reaches down and pulls the blanket over both of your shoulders, shutting his eyes once again and tries to join you in that state of slumber. It’ll be easier, he thinks. You’re here, and he’s home. And you fit perfectly in his arms—you always do.

~

“Okay, just keep them closed,” Frankie says with underlying excitement in his voice.  He’s standing behind you with his large hands over your eyes, and you’re unable to peek through them.

You laugh with confusion. “Seriously, what are you doing, Frankie?”

He doesn’t answer, just shushes you and carefully guides you forward, helping you sit down on the bar stool by the kitchen counter.

“Okay, okay. You good here?” He asks, resisting and chuckling when you try to pry his hands away.

“Yes, Francisco, now move your giant hands,” you demand playfully.

He releases his hands and you look around, still confused as your eyes fall on the countertop in front of you. “A...cup of coffee?”

He’s still standing behind you, leaning over your shoulder. “Not just a cup of coffee,” Frankie huffs with feigned offense. “Coffee from the shop we met at.”

You chuckle again, still perplexed, but he just puts his hands on your shoulder. “See if you can guess the drink,” he tells you, his tone entirely mischievous.

You raise your brows, but wrap your hands around the paper cup, letting it warm your hands and inhaling the familiar scent of your favorite shop. Finally taking a sip, you concentrate and try to pick out anything that might be different about it, but come up with nothing.

“This is my usual order…” you shake your head, taking another sip and trying to figure out what he’s being so sneaky about.

Still nothing.

You give up, setting the cup down and spinning around on the stool to face him. “Frankie, what—”

But he’s not right behind you—he’s on one knee on the floor. You let out a tiny gasp and swear your heart stops beating as your mind goes from confusion to realization to a complete flooding of surprised emotions. You slide off the stool and stand in front of him, trying not to burst into tears while failing to maintain your composure. Frankie has this timid but equally giddy grin on his face as he looks up at you, holding the black velvet box in his hand.

Frankie’s so distracted watching your reaction that he completely forgets that he needs to say something now, and his mind seems to finally register the apprehension in the rest of his body. The grin changes into a nervous smile as he inhales, then exhales.

“I—fuck,” he trails off, trying to gather his thoughts again as you chuckle with amusement. “I...you know you’re the world to me, and then some,” he starts, a tremor in his voice. “I’ll spend the rest of my life loving you, and I…You make me a better person—hell, you make me want to be a better person…” he continues to ramble as you move closer before dropping to the floor with him, throwing your arms around him.

“You’d make me the happiest man alive if...wait, I mean, I’m already the happiest man alive, but I would be even happier…” His supportive arms embrace you as he laughs, full of relief, and murmurs into your hair between your sobs. “...if you would do me the honor of being my wife.”

He’s so beside himself that he’d missed all the times you’d repeatedly said yes while in his arms, so you tell him again, his face in your hands, and he beams as you pull away to look at him.

Once he slips the dainty, understated ring onto your finger, you pull him back in, his lips meeting yours as he holds you like this is the only place he was ever meant to be—much like how you’d found each other in that quaint little coffee shop what seems like forever ago.

~

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#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #my ff

[bokugaos]

cheering crowd.

pairing: bokuto x reader

length: 2k

tags: exhibitionism, predicament bondage, master/pet, degradation, nipple play, lactation, belly bulge, cum inflation, double penetration (one hole), toys, creampie

it’s all just a show and make-believe, but when the curtain goes up and there’s a sea of people behind it, you still flinch back and want to shield yourself from everyone’s eyes.

of course, that is impossible with your hands bound behind your back. still, it makes you wobble on the unstable stools you’re kneeling on, and as you tense your abdominal muscles and struggle to regain balance, you finally realize the predicament you’re in.

there’s an uncomfortable pull from the rope wrapped around you and attached to the floor, and the gentle, not quite satisfying slide of the fake cock in your ass.

you close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath through your nose, teeth gently digging at the ball gag in your mouth.

you have to remind yourself that this is all just a game; that this is make-believe, that nobody other than bokuto will put a hand on you. there are lights on stage that transform the onlookers into a faceless, dark mass. 

you blink, trying to discern some of the faces. you want to know if there is anybody in the crowd that you know; maybe have a friendly face that you can hold on to while you are being put on display, visible to everybody and so very, very vulnerable—but your eyes start tearing up from the glare of the light and you’d rather keep them closed.

which makes the whole thing even more scary. your thighs are trembling until the motion travels down and into the unsteady stools you are kneeling on. again, you are clumsily fucking yourself a bit deeper onto the generously lubed dildo before trying to pull up and away, the bindings tugging at your limbs in the process.

you whine, suddenly frustrated with the whole situation—and it hasn’t even been ten minutes yet. nothing has happened at all, other than your blatant exposure and your indignant, embarrassing struggling.

the crowd is watching you fight your bondage, and it makes you all the more antsy. you know they can see how unsure you are about this whole thing. you know they can see all your movements, and you don’t quite like the thought of it. of them realizing that you’re still a pet in training; that your master is letting you play like this for the very first time—

you can feel him hovering just behind you. his energy is warm and vibrating; like he has to physically hold himself back from gentling you down and reassuring you. it’s not what the audience wants, though, and it’s killing you that he has not touched you for the longest time.

everything is so quiet.

one of your legs jerks suddenly, nearly kicking the stools away, and you cry out soft and pathetic, the sound muffled by the gag. your head falls back when the sensation of the fake cock sliding deeper into your belly has warmth radiating off of his insides.

and like that has been the start signal, the show suddenly gets rolling.

“a gorgeous specimen, this one.” an unfamiliar voice booms.

your head jerks around. you try to see who is the one that has spoken, but the person is nowhere to be seen. your sudden motion has you wobbling again as well, and as you struggle not to fall, the binding around your chest tightening.

you groan into your gag, feeling drool starting to slip from the corner of your mouth. you’re very aware of your tits now; hanging from its own weight. it feels swollen from the squeeze, and nothing much has happened yet other than you getting trussed into this current situation by bokuto’s warm and sure hands.

there’s a harness around your waist to make sure you don’t hurt yourself if you were to completely fall off the unsteady stool you’re kneeling on, and you are uncomfortably aware of how it is framing your upper body and making them look more plush than usual; tits looking even bigger and flush, almost.

“there it is,” the unfamiliar voice croons, jerking you out of your thoughts once more. the man laughs. it does not sound belittling, but he seems trained in this kind of thing; like he could make his voice do all sorts of nasty things. like he enjoys doing this.

“she’s getting nice and drunk, do you see? she’s struggling so hard not to go down, but we all know she’ll get there sooner rather than later.”

the crowd murmurs for the first time, low and appreciative. your nipples pebble at the sound, something stubborn wanting to rear inside you; the same thing that made you struggle, not wanting to show off just how badly you like to be praised and cooed over.

you huff, nostrils flaring as your excitement spikes, as much as you hate to admit it. you try to breathe through it and center yourself, but it is difficult when you’re so very purposefully kept off-center.

“bokuto is her owner, and he’s told me quite a few interesting titbits. seems like we have a very good girl on our hands – only that sometimes she doesn’t want to show it. ain’t that right, sweet pumpkin?”

you jerk at the pet name, brows coming down in a fierce scowl. you dig your teeth into the rubber of the ball gag, muscles tensing in annoyance. you sure as hell won’t let anyone else other than your master calling you some cute nickname.

“aw look at that! the little lady is getting all antsy—”

you glare at the ground at that, frustration burning hot through your veins. you twist, forgetting all about the scene as you struggle against all your bindings.

the stools slide away, and all of a sudden your body falls down a few inches. you yelp in alarm, shrill and high-pitched as the fake cock slides into you deep, spearing you open as the harness keeps you from seriously injuring yourself.

you hang there in the air, eyes big and face slack in shock as bokuto steps a bit closer, his big, warm hand landing between your shoulder blades as a point.

he leans forward some, staring into your surprised, big eyes.

“how’s my puppy doing?” he beams, and you, as if in a trance, just dumbly nod.

you are truly helpless now, as you hang in the air, your ankles kept up and off the floor by some more straps that connect them to the back of your arms.

bokuto smiles at you, eager and delighted, like you making a huge embarrassment out of yourself and losing your dignity has all been planned. he steps back again, not moving out of your line of sight as he swings you to face him, and positions you just still, spreading your thighs even wider against the binding.

his hands never leave you, though, tracing the bindings all along the exposed skin of your back.

“there she goes,” the voice says, but it is difficult to focus on it when bokuto slides into you, squeezing his cock along with the slick dildo while the rope around you restricts firmly just how far he can push you through the air.

you whine into the gag, muscles trembling as you try for some semblance of control, and the man keeps talking in the background.

“she’s a good pet. a bit hostile, as you can see—but certainly very eager to please her master. look how sweet and obedient she’s becoming now.”

you are chewing at your gag, drooling around it more as he holds you in the air, the feeling of getting fucked by his cock and the dildo, and getting your nipples tugged on just this side of rough is making it so difficult to keep a calm head on your shoulders.

with that huge cock inside you, that pulsing head, the ridge just beneath it, veins swelling thick all the way to its fat base. more like stone than flesh, dragging brutally on your soft insides, rubbing your inner walls raw. and your pussy keeps gushing despite the humiliation of it all. how could it not when his hard cock fills every possible inch of you, just pulsating at the base of your belly before coming in hot jets and grinding it all in? 

you’re a mess, you know, but the faceless mass of people does not sound put-out by the sight of you.

it is embarrassing to think that they can see just how easy you are for it; how you become all sweet and soft for a bit of rough handling, while you’re suspended in the air, body rocking against bokuto’s massive figure.

“look at how sweet and rope-drunk she’s getting. the little lady just needs a bit of her master’s firm hand.”

you sob at the words. bokuto rams even deeper, leaning into you so you can feel him as he starts to additionally pluck at your nipples, fingers hot and relentless as he plays with your body in front of the whole crowd.

he lets them all see and hear how you go wild when he plays with your nipples. lets them know just how sensitive your tits really are.

and that was it. that flips the switch. you come with a scream, loud but muffled by the ball gag between your lips.

you arch, body curving with the shape of his cock ramming into you. to your shame—and a violent amount of pleasure—it just has your tits squirting all over nipples beaded and splattering bokuto with white. bokuto seems to be going even harder—rougher—between the gushing of your tits and the violent spurt of your orgasm, and they drive him to a massive splash emptying out inside you. the force of it pushes the dildo out of your hole, and the excess cum squelches out, splattering warm and filthy against his slick thighs and down to the floor of the stage, leaving a big wet mess.

bokuto maneuvers himself deeper, twisting like a corkscrew and making your insides twist too, and it only drags your orgasm longer. you are sobbing now, hiccuping and struggling to breathe, now realizing that the hugeness in your stomach just increased by that much. it swells, bloating on cum, the sloshing weight in your stomach; you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up if not for being held up by the ropes and skewered on bokuto’s hard cock.

as you stare into his eyes, you know you’ll be coming all over your legs again, let him fill you up with his cum. it only rounds your stomach out more, until you think you might burst. there is plenty of excess seed frothing white and creamy at your battered hole, but that massive dick shoves it right back in with a filthy wet slap.

you’re nothing more than his dumb pet; a hole and womb, heavy and teeming with seed. the circumference of your belly and tits, the dilation of your hole, the elasticity. his dick plunges in and out methodically while you shake and squirm, too weak to even utter any words.

his touches tingle through you, jostle the sheer fullness of your belly. you squeal, louder and louder until you’re simply moaning like the cum slut that you are, body singing with pleasure as the horror fades from your eyes.

you ache, seeing nothing but white whenever his cock slots into your gaping hole and fills you back up all the way to the womb. big and rock hard and full of thick, creamy seed for your hungry body. and you’re taking it so well, you’re gonna be so full of cum. each violent thrust rocks your bound body back and forth, but from the mindless smile on your face, it seems you have finally learned to embrace your situation.

your eyes fill with happy tears as you realize you’re stuck here for a while, to be bred like a glory hole for as long as bokuto is done showing you off.

#bokuto smut #bokuto x reader smut #bokuto x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #bokuto koutarou #.bokuto! #.fics!

[sour--disposition]

Baby Steps

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harry lewis x fem!reader

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Request: Can I have an imagine where Harry accidentally gets you pregnant but no one knows your dating and you are scared to death but he is really good and it all is okay in the end and the rest of the sdmn are very supportive in the whole situation when they first find out about not only the two of you dating but also of the pregnancy. Thanks xx

I’m super open to doing a part two of this where baby w2s meets the uncles and we get super cute harry and baby fluff so lmk if thats something else i should add to the to do list

please check my masterlist to see if requests are open

They were taunting you. The two lines on the stick. It was like they were laughing at you, enjoying the turmoil erupting in your gut. Maybe that was the baby making itself known. Who knows?

What was Harry going to say? Neither of you were ready for a baby, were you? Harry’s career was only growing at this point, the sky was well and truly the limit for the Sidemen and for Harry himself. You couldn’t jeopardise that with an accidental pregnancy. It could ruin everything.

You’d been safe, you were on birth control, for Christ's sake. Yet, here you were, having a face off with 3 pregnancy tests.

You texted your best friend, Gee, immediately, asking if you could come over. She replied instantly, worrying about you but telling you to come over whenever you wanted to.

“What’s wrong?”, Gee asked as soon as she opened the door to you. She looked up up and down, checking you for damage.

“I’m pregnant”, you whispered. “I was late and I thought it was just my birth control fucking around with me but I’ve been really ill the last couple of days and I just thought that I’d take a test and rule out that silly possibility because no way am I pregnant but I am and-”

“Breathe, Y/N”, Gee told you firmly, taking your hand in hers and dragging you over to the sofa. “It’s going to be okay”, she said softly, pulling you into her arms. “Does Harry know?”, she asked.

“No, I came straight here”, you whispered. “Oh, shit. The guys don’t even know we’re together. I think Freezy does but... Hi guys I’m actually Harry’s girlfriend surprise also surprise, I’m pregnant”, you said in a put on, over the top, happy voice. “My God, my life has gone to shit, Gee”, you huffed, slumping back onto the sofa.

“It’ll be fine. It’s your body, Y/N, and it’s your choice what you do with it. If Harry is supportive, that’s great. If not, you’ve got me, and the girls and Will and his friends. Whatever option you pick, you don’t have to do it alone”, Gee told you reassuringly, running her hand comfortingly up and down your arm. “You need to tell Harry and then you can take it from there”.

Gee let you sit with her for a little while longer, letting you calm down and get your thoughts together before you attempted to face Harry. You texted him, asking if he was free and if you could come over. He replied quickly, thank God, telling you to come over whenever you wanted.

“You can ring me whenever, okay? And if you need to come here after, you don’t have to ring, just come straight over. Let me know how everything goes, yeah?”.

The drive to Harry’s was stressful. You seemed to hit every red light possible, and every driver in front of you seemed to have zero sense of urgency. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently, flicking through the Spotify playlist you’d set when you left Gee’s.

By the time you’d parked up and gotten to Harry’s front door, you were practically shaking where you stood. The nerves were wracking through your entire body. Forget butterflies, there was a whole stampede going on in your stomach.

“Hey”, Harry smiled once you’d finally knocked on the door. “Are you okay? You don’t look too good”, he said, worry written plainly across his face.

“Is Freezy here or is it just us?”, you asked, chewing on your lip.

“It’s just us”, Harry said simply, taking your hand in his and guiding you over to the sofa. Once you’d sat down, he rested his hand on your knee. “You’re really worrying me, Y/N. What’s wrong?”.

“Promise you won’t be mad?”, you asked, voice small. Harry nodded, moving his hand to hold yours. “I’m pregnant”.

Harry seemed to lose all control of his face. His mouth dropped open slightly in shock and his hand around yours slackened. “I-”, he spluttered. “I thought we were safe”, he said quietly.

“We were”, you said, voice watery as tears started to fall. “There’s, like, a less than 1% chance. I’m so sorry”, you said, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

“Don’t be sorry, don’t cry”, Harry shushed. He seemed to snap back to reality there and then. He bundled you into his arms, carefully pulling you closer to him. He gently wiped the tears off of your face, leaving his hand there to cup your face. “Don’t ever be sorry”, he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.

“But the boys and your channel and they don’t even know about us”, you rambled. “I don’t know what to do, Harry”, you whispered into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“It’s your choice, Y/N. It’s your body. I’m not going to force you to have a baby that you don’t want to have, but I’ll be there every step of the way if you choose to keep it”, Harry told you.

“What do you want?”, you asked him quietly. “In an ideal world, what do you want?”.

“Ideally? This would’ve happened a little bit later. But I love you, Y/N. I’ve known from day one that I love you. I want nothing more than to have a family with you and if thats a little bit sooner than we first thought, then so be it. But I’ll be here, no matter what decision we make. All I ask is that you include me. No matter what choice we make, I’m not going anywhere”, Harry said. His thumb came up to swipe at a few more tears that had fallen.

You looked at Harry in awe. “Of course I want this with you, Harry. There’s nothing I want more. Sure, a couple more years would’ve been great. But we can do this, right?”, you asked, voice wavering only slightly.

“Yeah, we can”, Harry smiled. His hand moved from your thigh to your stomach, cupping around what would become a bump in the next few months. “Hi, baby”, he cooed softly, dipping his head down to rest on your chest. “I love you and your Mummy so very much”, he hummed. A smile fell into place on your face as you let yourself bask in the soft moment for a little while.

“Do you want to tell your friends?”, you asked Harry a few minutes later.

“Yeah”, he said simply. “I wanna be a good dad to my baby and that has to start from now. I think they know I’ve got a girlfriend, but I want you to meet them properly finally. And I’ll tell them there and then about Harry Junior. If they can’t get on board, then that’s a them problem”, Harry said with a sense of finality.

“We are not calling this baby Harry Junior, no matter how great of a dad you are”.

-

You were nervous, but not nearly as nervous as when you’d told Harry that you were pregnant last week. You were sat with Harry on the sofa of his living room, waiting for the rest of the Sidemen to come around. You’d already told Cal, it was kind of hard to deflect the question when he came into the room to see Harry affectionately cradling your body and stomach.

“What if they hate me?”, you asked Harry, leg bouncing in anticipation.

“You know them already, sort of. They won’t hate you. You’re amazing”, Harry promised.

“Yeah but they don’t know me as your girlfriend or the mother of your child”, you stressed. Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a knock on the door.

“That’ll be some of them”. Harry bounced up to open the door, returning to the room followed by Vik, Tobi and Josh. “I got a text from Simon, him and JJ are down the block in an Uber”, Harry said, quickly returning to his spot next to you.

You made small talk with the 3 boys and Harry until JJ, Ethan and Simon arrived. The wait couldn’t have been any longer than 5 minutes, but to you, it felt like a life time.

Once everyone was situated around the living room, Harry gestured at you awkwardly. “So, you know Y/N”, he started, sounding unsure of himself. He was met with a round of nods and ‘mhm’s. “We’ve been together for just over a year”, Harry said bluntly.

You were surprised by the lack of surprise in the room. “You dragged us all the way over here to tell us something we all already knew?”, Vik asked, looking around at the other boys.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly a well kept secret, Harry”, Simon laughed with a smile on his face.

“Oh, well...”, Harry trailed off, blushing and spluttering slightly. “There is something else, though”, he said quietly. “You’ve said I’ve been a bit off the last week and it’s because I’ve really needed to speak to you lot about something”.

“You aren’t pulling a JJ, right?”, Josh asked with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t do diss-tracks again, man, it feels like a fever dream”, he whined. Everyone around the room let out a low chuckle and Ethan poked at JJ’s shoulder, purposefully trying to wind him up.

“No, it’s not about that”, Harry laughed nervously. Harry looked like he was trying to find the words, but he was too nervous to string any of them together to form a coherent sentence.

“Last week I found out I’m pregnant”, you said, squeezing Harry’s hand gently in your own.

The shocked faces almost made you burst out into laughter. Over the last week, it was all you and Harry had talked about and it helped the both of you come to terms with the reality of the situation. It was still daunting, but you knew that you weren’t doing it alone which lifted a massive weight off of your chest.

Shocked faces soon broke out into huge grins. “Congratulations!”, Josh beamed from the other side of the living room. “How far along are you?”, he asked you.

“I’m not too sure, I have a doctors appointment tomorrow because I need to know if my birth control will have done any damage. But I’d say maybe 8 weeks, give or take”, you smiled.

“You had a good time in Italy then, Harry?”, JJ teased from his spot in the chair, earning him a swift swat from Simon. 

Harry’s face screwed up in confusion. “What does our anniversary trip have anything to do with - Oh...”, Harry trailed off, cheeks immediately setting alight with a pinkish red blush. You couldn’t help but giggle, leaning gently against Harry’s side. “Wait, how did you know about our anniversary trip?”, Harry asked.

“Like we said, Harry. You aren’t very subtle”.

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